


Tongue Tied and Throat Closed

by coffee_mage



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: ATA gene handwaves all, Badass nurses, DADT is still a thing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 13:50:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10878096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffee_mage/pseuds/coffee_mage
Summary: Talking about his feelings has always been uncomfortable, but when John tries to have an important conversation with Rodney, that goes to a whole new level.  Discomfort becomes the threat of death and Rodney doesn't know what to do.(Or, the one in which saying 'I love you' almost kills John but he finds a way to do it anyway)





	Tongue Tied and Throat Closed

Rodney's stomach was churning with anxiety as John spoke.  If John was saying what Rodney thought he was then, well, he really needed to email his sister or she'd kick his ass for hiding a relationship from her.  He hadn't said anything to her yet, but he was suddenly sure that the awkward post-adrenaline handjobs actually meant something. It was important enough to John to use his words, so it meant something to John.  Either that or he was about to tell Rodney there would be no further handjobs and that they should probably spend much less time together.  That would suck.  And not in the 'we should maybe move from handjobs to blowjobs' kind of way.  
  
"I uh," John said, and coughed lightly, clearing his throat and shifting his weight back and forth.  "You know, with, uh, the way that this, it's... you know, a thing.  A thing we do.  Sometimes.  Maybe more than sometimes.  Kind of a lot, now that I uh, think about it... you know."  He coughed again, scratching at the side of his neck.   
  
"You mean the sex stuff that keeps happening?"  
  
"Uh, yeah.  But, you know.  When it happens a lot.  It's, you know, a, uh, thing?"  
  
"Like, maybe a relationship?" Rodney suggested, trying not to let the hope in his voice betray him.  It could still be a breakup.  
  
"Yeah.  That.  You know, that thing.  Yeah.  Maybe we have that."  John scratched at the side of his neck some more.  It reminded Rodney of a nervous dog, scratching to calm down a threat.  It was endearing in a weird way.  
  
"Well, we've been working together for years.  It's safe to say we have some kind of relationship," Rodney said, reaching for the same brusque tone he used in the field but ending up somewhere closer to 'awkward nerd asking if the hot chick in chem class needs a tutor.'  
  
John coughed again, taking a couple deep breaths like it actually pained him to be having this discussion.  If Rodney didn't know that talking about his feelings was some kind of macho fail thing of John's, he'd be insulted.  "Yeah.  Yeah, that's true.  But there are... you know... things.  Things that make some relationships different?"  
  
Rodney nodded slowly, wishing Teyla was here to translate while also very glad she wasn't.  He was pretty sure he didn't want Teyla knowing anything about his sex life.  "Things like physical things?  Are you talking about my penis?  I know your job says you can't touch those, but--"  
  
"No, McKay," John said irritably, his voice harsh.    
  
Rodney raised his hands in surrender.  "Right, right.  Okay.  So not physical things?"  
  
John shook his head.  "No."  
  
"You mean... feelings?" Rodney said, hope swelling in his chest.  
  
"Yeah," John said.  "Feelings.  Those things.  I have, yeah, you know..."  
  
"Feelings?  Everyone has feelings.  Anyone who doesn't is lying," Rodney said, nerves making him talk faster.  "Or, you know, they're a sociopath."  
  
"I'm not a sociopath," John got out.  He coughed and scratched and swayed a little in place, flexing one knee then the other.    
  
Rodney wondered if that meant he'd locked his knees.  That made people pass out, didn't it?  John would know better, though.  He was military.  They stood still for stupid things all the time.  "I know that.  So you've got feelings."  
  
"Yeah.  Feelings.  For, you know, you."  It was a little wheezy, the way he said it, and his back was really rigid and tense.  
  
Rodney wondered if he should go to Heightmeyer and ask her if emotional constipation was a literal diagnosis or not.  At the very least, hopefully Heightmeyer would track John down and try teaching him some coping methods for when he talked about his feelings.   "What kind?  Like... friendly, manly chest-bumping feelings?  Because someone chest-bumped me once.  I fell on my back and I was sore for days."  
  
"No," John said.  "The kind where I want to be with you."  
  
"You're with me every day for work."  
  
"Do I have to spell it out for you?" John was practically digging at his neck now.  It had stopped being endearing and was moving into just weird.  
  
"I've had problems in the past where I thought I was in a very different kind of relationship from what I actually was in so I think for the sake of making sure we're both on the same page, yeah, you probably should."  
  
"Okay," John said.  "Uh, okay."  He cleared his throat a few times in quick succession, taking big sucking breaths.  The idea that it could be this hard to psych himself up to say whatever he was about to say made Rodney question the verity of it.  He was already sure he knew what was about to be said, but how could it possibly be true if John was having this much trouble getting it out?  Was Rodney just a handy sex partner and John was trying to make him stick around?  That would be bad.  He'd had so many relationships that went like that, where he'd been little more than a booty call.  Rodney really didn't want this to be just a booty call kind of thing.  
  
"Spit it out," Rodney urged, not sure he could handle any more of this.  
  
John put a hand to his stomach and grimaced.  Rodney frowned.  Food poisoning, maybe?  Maybe all the stuttering was unrelated to the feelings and John just felt crappy.  Rodney knew they shouldn't have trusted those weird mushroomy sort of things on the planet of the sad SCA wannabes.  Still, John pulled his gaze back up to Rodney's face.  "I, uh, hm."  He cleared his throat again and frowned.  "I like you.  A lot.  And I, you know, want..."  John went into a coughing fit.  
  
Rodney took a half step towards him in concern.  "Sheppard?  
  
John coughed some more, taking a sucking breath with an odd hoarse whistle to it.  It sent a spike of fear through Rodney's brain, though he couldn't place why it was such a familiar terror.  Something wasn't right.  
  
"I'm okay," John gasped out.  "I'm okay.  I wanna, you know, get this out.  I... we should."  He coughed again.  "We should get some... spend some time.  I like you.  We should try...  You know.  That... uh..."  
  
Rodney was watching John gasp and seem to choke on the words.  Panic attack?  No.  Didn't fit.  Rodney had seen other people have panic attacks before.  This didn't look like a panic attack to him even if John wasn't the type to ever do anything right.    
  
"Being with you, I feel..."  John's breath whistled again as he sucked in a gulping lungful of air.  "Happy," he said, then raised his hand from his stomach to his chest as if feeling something strange.  He coughed and seemed unable to get his breath.    
  
The fear turned into alarm.  Something familiar.  Something terrifying.  Something Rodney had to stop. Heart attack?  No.  No, John wasn't clutching his left arm.  His left arm was on his neck, scratching incessantly as if... Rodney peered in closer and everything fell into place abruptly.  John had hives on his neck.  He had hives.  The whistling, the obvious fear on John's face.  Rodney didn't recognize it all because he was usually too busy panicking when it happened.  Anaphylaxis.  Rodney was seeing anaphylaxis from the other side for the first time in his life and it was, if anything, more terrifying from that side.  
   
Still, Rodney had been trained to use an autoinjector since he was five years old and he only fumbled a little as he felt for his.  "John, just breathe.  I think you're having an allergic reaction.  I'm about to stab you."  He pulled the thing out of its tube, popping the cap off in an automatic action he didn't even have to think about.  He did have to pause and think about it before he jabbed himself in the thigh out of reflex, but then he lunged for John instead.  
  
John tried to shove him back, shaking his head and gasping, choking on his own throat.  Rodney hadn't noticed in the poor, blue light of the balcony they were on, but John's lips looked dark and his face was swelling.  Blue lips wasn't good.  Cyanosis meant oxygen deprivation which meant John's brain cells were probably crackling out of existence like pop rocks.    
  
"Calm down!" Rodney snapped and stepped into John's space, stabbing him swiftly and hard in the thigh.  John thrashed and Rodney shoved him up against the railing, alarmed by how easy it was.  He needed to hold that needle in long enough to get the medicine in but John was shoving back, trying to get free.  He was panicking and Rodney didn't blame him one bit.  He wasn't sure how long he managed to hold it in before John's struggling made it too hard and he pulled it out, his hand going up to his radio quickly.  "McKay to Beckett, medical emergency on the balcony closest to Colonel Sheppard's quarters."  
  
"What's the emergency?"   
  
"Anaphylaxis!"  
  
"Okay, try to breathe, we'll be with you as quickly as we can," Carson's voice said, tones soothing but with enough urgency that Rodney knew he was already moving.    
  
"It's not me!" Rodney snapped, trying to shove John so he was sitting.  "It's Colonel Sheppard!"  
  
There was a pause.  "Right, still coming as quickly as we can.  Give him your epipen."  
  
"I already did.  Sheppard, sit down before you fall!" Rodney snapped, not caring that anyone else could hear him.  
  
John shook his head, trying to stay upright and stumbling.  His chest heaved as he tried desperately to suck in air, air that was coming easier but that hadn't been there before, that Rodney knew he couldn't believe was actually there.  Rodney had always thought the worst part of anaphylaxis was being on the receiving end.  He didn't think so any longer.  
  
"Sit down!  Come on."  Rodney shoved at John's shoulders, feeling helpless.  "You'll feel better if you sit down."  
  
"Need to go to medical," John gasped.  The whistle wasn't as gone as Rodney would have liked, but he knew it wasn't time to try a second dose.  Carson would be there before it was, he was pretty sure.    
  
"Medical is coming to you.  Sit and wait.  They'll bring a stretcher."  
  
"Want to walk."  
  
"Sit!" Rodney practically shrieked, using all his weight and finally succeeding at getting John down.  That was good.  That was really good.  John was sitting.  Sitting would give him better oxygen exchange, wouldn't it?  Rodney couldn't remember.  He was usually incapable of thought by this point and dependent on other people to get him through.  
  
"Rodney, is he still responsive?"  
  
Rodney was practically sitting on John to keep him down.  "He's panicking," he snapped.  "But he's responsive.  Airway's clearing, maybe.  I'm not sure I held the epipen in long enough, he was thrashing."  
  
"Just keep an eye on him.  We're less than five minutes away."  
  
"Good.  Sheppard, look at me."  Rodney knelt on John's legs to keep him down and put his hands on the sides of his face.  "Help is on the way.  You're okay."  
  
John gagged and choked, not seeming to understand in the fear that was basically pulsating like a beacon behind his eyes.  
  
"I know it doesn't feel like it, but you just have to breathe because everything is going to be fine.  Carson's going to fill you so full of benadryl you can't think.  You're gonna feel shitty, but you'll be fine."  Rodney tried to fill the time, the wait, with words of comfort, though he didn't think they'd probably be very effective.  He couldn't remember basically anything anyone had ever said to him while he was having a reaction like this.  He just kept talking, though, trying to convince John to breathe.  John didn't seem to calm, kept gagging and choking, finally vomiting all over both of them.  "Aw no," Rodney said, swallowing hard.  "Beckett, hurry up or I'm going to throw up on your patient!"  
  
"Almost there.  What happened?"  
  
"He threw up!"  
  
"Is his airway clear?"  
  
"I think so?"  
  
"Keep his head back.  We're rounding the corner!"  
  
Rodney had never in his whole life been so glad to see Carson's face.  
  
  
  
"Did you come into contact with anything odd?" Carson asked.  "There must be something."  
  
"First off, what makes you think that if you ask me that fifty times, the fifty-first will get a new answer and second, Colonel Sheppard is a grown man!  I'm not his keeper, I'm not even in the same department as him.  We're not joined at the hip and we don't do everything together."  Rodney waved his hands in the air exasperatedly.  Yes, he probably did know more about everything John touched than anyone else, that was true, but John's job depended on that never being a known case.  No one could know that John spent that much time, or really any kind of intense time, with another man.  The city needed John.  The Air Force needed John to like ladies and not men.  The city needed John more than Rodney needed any acknowledgement of whatever relationship they did or didn't have.  Rodney wasn't stupid.  
  
"Did he do any lightswitch duty today?"  
  
"What he does in our labs is far more important than simply being a lightswitch, something you'd know if you weren't so afraid of your own genetic structure, but no, to answer your question, he didn't.  And even if he had, there was no tech on the balcony.  We were having a couple of beers--beers that he drinks whenever he's off duty, not that he drinks constantly, he wouldn't have the beer for that, the Daedalus wouldn't bring him that much beer, but beers that are of a known brand, of terran origin and are beers he's had a dozen times.  We shared a couple beers out of that case last week, no effect, nothing like this.  That's the only thing that was on the balcony other than him and me and some ocean air!"  Rodney was pretty sure he'd just convinced Carson that John was a secret alcoholic.  That wasn't any better for his career than a cock up the ass.  
  
"Keep your voice down, Rodney, he needs some rest."  
  
"He tried to die for absolutely no good reason and you want me to keep my voice down?"  
  
"He didn't try to die, as you well know."  
  
Rodney rolled his eyes to cover how uncomfortable he was with this conversation now.  He hated when Carson came off all judgey on him.  It drove him nuts.  It wasn't like he was wrong.  John had collapsed for no good reason.  Well, the anaphylaxis was a good reason but the collapsing was stupid and there was no reason for the anaphylaxis.  "Well there was still nothing on that balcony for him to be allergic to!"  
  
Carson looked, if possible, even less impressed.  "Rodney, an allergen can cause a reaction like that up to 72 hours post-exposure.  You know that."  
  
"No, actually, I don't."  
  
"You've had severe allergies since you were five years old.  How can you not know that?"  
  
"Let's see, maybe because my reactions pretty much go 'contact with thing, imminent death?'  There's no waiting.  I'm either going to die or not!"  
  
"Right.  Well, you need to calm down.  Was there anything he would have touched yesterday, a different device, something he hadn't had contact with yet?"  
  
"No, we're only analyzing old things.  Why?"  
  
"He's got an elevated level of a protein I usually only see immediately after gene therapy.  It's the only thing I see in his blood results so I was hoping that perhaps it was a reaction to a piece of tech--I haven't actually monitored natural gene users to see if I see it in their blood when they activate Ancient tech, so it was a possibility."  
  
"He hasn't even been down to the lab since our last mission.  Which was almost a week ago.  We're due to go out tomorrow."  
  
"Well, that won't be happening."  
  
"He's going to love you for that."  
  
"Well he's not going off world until he's had a full allergy workup.  We can't have him going into shock while you're out there."  
  
"I know, I know.  Just... I can't think of anything.  There's been no new food in the mess, no new MREs, no nothing.  John's life has been as normal as anything gets in this galaxy, as far as I know.  Ask the marines if he's been doing some weird manly bonding thing with them.  Or Ronon.  I'll bet Ronon licks the Marines' jockstraps with Sheppard or something.  He seems like the type."  
  
"If that's what you think marines do when you leave them alone, I don't even want to know what you think a slumber party looks like," Carson said.  
  
"Well, it's..." Rodney cut himself off.  "Look, just ask the Marines.  Ask Ronon.  Ask Teyla if you have to.  Maybe there's some weird massage oil involved in the Athosian yoga crap she does with Sheppard every morning.  I just know it's nothing I did and it's nothing I'd know about.  You could even wait until he wakes up and ask him."  
  
"I know I can ask him, but it may have come to your attention that the Colonel isn't the most... forthcoming about himself."  
  
"You mean he's so emotionally constipated that it's a shocker you don't have to take a rotorooter to his asshole?"  
  
Carson made a face and it was only the gravity of the whole situation that kept Rodney from laughing aloud.  "Yes, Rodney, something like that.  You don't know if he's been seeing anyone, do you?"  
  
Rodney froze, trying not to let his horror show.  Was this Carson hinting that he knew?  It could destroy John's career.  Besides, it might not last.  John had gone into full anaphylaxis before they could finish the conversation and figure out where things were going.  "Uh, not sure."  
  
Carson frowned and searched his face.  "Rodney?"  
  
"I don't know.  You know how secretive he is.  It's not like he talks about feelings.  Or anything other than whether or not I can make his jumpers go faster."  
  
Carson crossed his arms across his chest and waited for Rodney to stop before he spoke.  He glanced around, making sure no one else was in earshot.  "Lad, are you using condoms?"  
  
"What?  No, why would we be?  We're not--"  
  
"It's important for me to know if you are.  Latex allergies can present like this."  
  
"Well we're not."  
  
"Do you need them?  I can give you--"  
  
"We're not!"  
  
"Rodney.  You know men still need them, right?"  
  
"Carson, I have actually paid enough attention to the history of the country whose military I get vast sums of money from to know what the AIDS crisis was, why it's bad and why men need condoms.  That doesn't matter, though, because Sheppard and I aren't playing hide the zucchini!"  
  
"That may be the most idiotic metaphor for sex I've heard since medical school."  
  
"Oh you didn't go to medical school, you just bounced around a fire hopefully until someone put a cap on your head."  
  
Carson sighed.  "Right.  Off with you then.  I've got work to do and I don't need you running around underfoot."  
  
"I'm not running around.  I mean, you know, I could just wait for Sheppard to wake up.  You know how he is about Medical."  
  
"Not this time, Rodney.  He had the reaction in your presence.  It could have been something on your person.  It was a bad enough reaction he's staying in the clean room until we sort out what's gone on here.  I'm not taking any risks with him.  I'm still not convinced he's not going to crash again."  
  
"Yes, fine, whatever.  I'll go, I don't know...  Ask Teyla and Ronon if they fed him anything weird."  
  
"You do that.  I'll be staying the night here, making sure he's all right.  Tell them to stay away.  If I have to take a team into the clean room, it'll be a tight fit and Ronon takes up far more space than he's any right to."  
  
  
  
John hated the smell of infirmary almost as much as he hated the 'you are grounded' part that usually followed.  It was even worse when he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why everything around him stank of infirmary.  He had been on the balcony.  He'd been waiting for Rodney.  No, Rodney had arrived, late, but there.  He'd been talking to Rodney.  He'd been on the balcony, talking to Rodney.  He'd decided he was going to have The Talk with Rodney.  Then infirmary.  Had there been an attack?  No, he didn't think so.  But maybe.  He felt like someone had been shot him in the chest.  So there had to have been an attack.  Vantage points on the balcony didn't lend themselves to sniper fire.    
  
Wait.  Rodney.  Had he been hit?  He stopped trying to figure out why he was in the infirmary and moved straight to trying to sit up.  Where was Rodney?  Was Rodney all right?    
  
"Lay still," came Carson's voice from nearby.  Left.  John turned his head, though he still tried to get up.  "Don't make me get dressed to come in there and keep you down.  I will.  You've had two rounds of CPR, your ribs don't need the pressure of you getting up just now."  
  
"Where's Rodney?" John demanded, sitting up anyway.  Yes, his ribs hurt.  It wasn't that bad, though.  He'd had worse.  
  
"At this hour, he's probably asleep."  
  
"He wasn't injured in the attack?"  
  
"For god's sake, lie down.  I won't tell you anything until you lay down."  
  
John threw himself back down and had to take several deep breaths as pain hit his ribs, hard.  "There," he gasped.  
  
"I told you, you've had CPR.  Would it kill you to try listening to a medical professional once in awhile?"  
  
"Rodney.  Attack.  Go."  
  
"There wasn't any external attack.  You got hit by an anaphylactic allergic reaction and collapsed."  
  
"I don't have allergies."  
  
"Four shots of epinephrine, a massive dose of antihistamines, two bouts of CPR, a couple hours of intubation and a bunch of steroids say otherwise, lad."  
  
"Okay, I get a little sniffly when I'm in Texas at pollen season, so I'm probably allergic to pollen of some kind, but there's nothing else."  
  
"I know the Air Force rules on serious allergies, Colonel.  If you're hiding something--"  
  
"I'm not.  I'm not allergic to anything.  Not like this.  There's got to be some kind of mistake."  
  
"There's no mistaking.  You went into full anaphylaxis.  You coded twice.  I may not have been working in an A&E back on Earth, but I know what anaphylaxis looks like and how to treat it.  You responded to the treatment.  If you don't give me anything to go on, we're going to have to go through a full allergy trial and you'll be staying in the clean room until I know what's set you off."  
  
"I'm fine now."  
  
"Yes, but you could still go into a reaction again, for up to 72 hours.  And you could be allergic to literally anything."  
  
"I had hives before once," John volunteered.  "But it wasn't because of allergies.  I had some kind of virus."  It had sucked.  He'd had to leave one of the very few school functions that had involved actual girls and they'd taken him to the hospital instead.  One minute he'd been trying to convince Sarah Sawyer that they should try to sneak out of the ballroom and get some alone time and the next he felt like he was covered in fire ants.  He hadn't even gotten to see her bra strap.  
  
"A virus?"  
  
"Yeah, they tried everything else.  I was in the hospital overnight and in the infirmary for three days while they got me off to the allergist.  I wasn't allergic to anything except... I think it was oak pollen.  And only a little bit to that.  I'm not allergic to anything, it was a _virus._ "  
  
"Well, isn't it lucky that I have Ancient scanners at my disposal that can scan you for any virus.  And that they didn't find anything."  
  
"There must be something you're missing."  
  
"The city would be on lockdown if you were infected with a virus that could do this."  
  
John stared.  There was a point.  But that didn't mean this was an allergy.  There had to be something else.  Anaphylaxis would get him discharged from the Air Force.  He'd never fly again, not really fly.  At best he'd be able to get into passenger jets.  "But I can't be allergic.  Carson, I've been tested for virtually everything imaginable.  You underwent the same physical that I went through to come to Pegasus.  They tested me for everything.  A little pollen.  That's it.  And barely even a reaction."  
  
"Sometimes, we develop allergies as we get older.  I had a cousin who came up allergic to her mum's seafood stew when she was thirty."  
  
That wasn't any comfort at all.  John was pretty sure that they had selected for terrible bedside manner when they'd been finding everyone for the expedition.  Carson was usually a little bit better than that, at least.  "I'll go insane if you keep me in here."  
  
"I'll get you a datapad.  You can start making me a list of every single place you've been in the last three days, everyone you've come in contact with--"  
  
"Allergies aren't contagious.  If they were, lemons would kill me."  
  
"No, but someone might remember something they had contact with.  Something that they were working on.  We'll interview everyone."  
  
"Would you do this on Earth?"  
  
"Not to the same extent as we're doing here, no, but our medical resources are much more limited here."  
  
John looked around the infirmary with a jaundiced eye.  "You have more advanced technology than any hospital on Earth could even dream of."  
  
"And we don't know its capacities or limitations.  I'm still just a doctor and you're still human.  Lad, you need to be careful.  We need you."  
  
John shrugged.  "You mean you don't want to get stuck in the command chair."  
  
"That too."  
  
"You know they'll boot me out if I have an allergy serious enough to need me to, you know, carry an epipen everywhere, right?"  
  
"I know they'll make an exception if I tell them to."  
  
John set his jaw and clenched his fists.  "They've been looking for a reason to boot me out since I started.  They'll thank me for my service and set me up with a pension.  Depending on who all's pissed off at me, I might not even get the pension."  
  
"Leave that to me.  Now, if I get you a datapad, will you make me a list?"  
  
John shrugged.  "Sure.  Why not.  You're not going to find anything."  
  
"Be that as it may, I have to try.  Let me get you a clean datapad."  
  
"Fine."  John dropped his head back on the pillow.  He was trapped in a small, transparent room without any modicum of privacy.  This was basically his idea of hell.  He was stuck in hell.  Great.  They probably wouldn't even let him have real clothes until this was all sorted out and if that wasn't enough to make him sick, nothing was.  If anything was going to make him get hives...  It was like being a goldfish.  He'd always felt sorry for them.

 

  
John's list didn't appear to have actually accomplished anything.  He wasn't allowed to leave the bubble--and that's really what it was.  He was officially Bubble Boy.  Elizabeth had come by and had him hand over all of his duties to Lorne until he was cleared.  He'd always been a hands-on kind of guy but he wasn't allowed to have paper, so he couldn't even do his oh-so-dreaded paperwork.  He couldn't remember ever being so bored in his life.  Usually, he was hopped up on the good painkillers or he had an after action report to complete.  Sure, he spent more time playing keep-away with Carson than he did actually completing the report, but that was what made the infirmary the best place to do paperwork.  It was exciting.  
  
Instead, he was sitting on his hands, fully on display to everyone who walked in.  The misery must have been visible because everyone looked at him like some kind of art installation.  'Miserable excuse for a man, flesh and blood, 2007.'  He just wanted everyone to stop staring when they walked in.  He wasn't diseased, apparently.  He wished he was.  People wouldn't gawk so badly.  The gawking was almost worse than the boredom.   
  
"John?" he heard, coming from behind him.  He turned and there was Teyla, a welcome relief from the unending boredom.  
  
"Hey," he said, pressing a hand against his ribs where they hurt.  "Guess you'll be able to go chill with your people for a few days.  No missions until the doc gets me sorted out."  
  
"Such precaution must surely be warranted or Doctor Beckett would let you go recuperate in your quarters."  
  
"He's being an overprotective ass.  I haven't had a mother since I was a kid and I sure as hell don't need one now.  Whatever happened was some kind of fluke."  John sat back against his pillows, feeling mutinous.  If he wasn't absolutely sure it would get him put into full restraints, he'd bust himself right out of the stupid plastic tent and go find something to do.  
  
"Given the nature of these... reactions, I understand his concerns.  I was not there, but if it was akin to what happened when Rodney tried Hannathan wine, it must have been truly alarming.  I have provided Doctor Beckett with samples of everything used when we train together in the hope that it may provide some answers.  Given the speed at which he works, I am certain we will not miss more than perhaps one trip off-world."  
  
John shrugged.  "There's nothing wrong with me so he's not going to be able to find anything.  That's just all there is to it."  He was fine.  He felt fine.  Maybe the reaction had killed off the virus or whatever that had made him react.  It wasn't his area of expertise, but it was far more likely than that he was actually allergic to something and his body had waited more than thirty-five years to let him know.  
  
"Even so, we shall all be much more secure when your health is assured.  We've no desire to see you ill."  
  
"I'm not ill.  I'm fine."  
  
"I have heard you say that when your death was at hand.  Please have patience."  
  
John rolled his eyes.  Patience.  There was something he was good at.  
  
"Perhaps this will be a good opportunity to learn some," she suggested, with the amused tone she always took when she thought she was reading his mind.  
  
He wasn't going to let her think that she had succeeded.  "I'm patient.  I'm just also bored.  They're not really letting me have much in the way of entertainment and the beeping gets in the way of meditation."  
  
"Meditation?" Teyla asked, the eyebrow raise audible.  John turned just to confirm and he was right.  
  
"Yeah, meditation.  You've always said it was relaxing.  I figured now was as good a time as ever to get into it, practice."  
  
"I could bring you some of the recordings that your scientists made of my people's music, to cover the sounds of the infirmary," she offered.    
  
"Sure," John said.  "That sounds good."  
  
"I shall go now."  She smiled at him.  "I doubt that I will be able to bring incense, but is there anything else I can get you?"  
  
"The music is fine," John assured her.  He was going to have to actually meditate with her now, was the problem.  He was positive that she was going to want to meditate with him, to guide him and help him.  He wasn't looking forward to it, but he'd doomed himself now.

 

  
The infirmary wasn't Rodney's favourite place to be.  It didn't even rank in his top ten favourite places on a good day and any day where he was the one on the outside and one of his teammates was on the inside was definitely going to be a bad day.  Still, he was on a mission.  He needed to get to John, get privacy in spite of John's captivity, and finish the conversation they'd been having.  After all, once John got out of the infirmary, he'd probably go into hiding for awhile and then it would get progressively harder to get the conversation finished.  Rodney needed answers.  Rodney needed instruction.    
  
Rodney needed to be sure that John Sheppard actually wanted to date him, for whatever measure of dating could happen in a foreign galaxy on what amounted to an American military base.  There couldn't be any assumptions, not when a misstep would mean hurting John so badly.  Not when Rodney wanted it so badly he could basically taste it.  They needed clear communication or they weren't going to get anywhere at all.  Not that clear communication always worked.  Usually people were just too stupid to follow basic information, after all.  It was frustrating.  
  
John was less stupid than most, though, so armed with chocolate, Rodney headed first to the night nurse's desk.  "Hey, you look like you could use a break."  
  
"Sandy's on break right now.  I'll be fine until it's my turn."  
  
"Nothing interesting's happening, though.  There's no emergency.  There's nothing going on.  You only even have one patient and he's not doing anything interesting either."  
  
He raised an eyebrow.  "McKay, you know as well as I do that it doesn't matter how boring my shift is, I'm here until I'm relieved."  
  
"I need a short conversation with Sheppard."  
  
"He's asleep."  
  
"Asleep?"  
  
"It's the middle of the night, of course he's asleep.  He's got to be up early for testing."  
  
"It's not that late."  
  
"It's 0100.  It's that late.  You need to leave him alone."  
  
"I have chocolate?"  Rodney held out a bar of Godiva.  
  
The nurse took it, looked at it, then closed it in his desk drawer.  "Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome."  Rodney smiled, then turned towards John's bubble.  He didn't even make it a full stride before there was a hand on his arm.    
  
"Where do you think you're going?"  
  
"To talk to Sheppard."  
  
"I don't think so.  You're going to go to your own bed and let my patient sleep or you'll find yourself in a bed."  
  
"What kind of threat is that?"  
  
"I'm a nurse.  I know eleven different ways to hurt you just enough to leave you unconscious in one of my beds.  I highly recommend you go to your own bed."  
  
"What kind of nurse _are_ you?" Rodney asked.    
  
"US Marine Corps."    
  
Rodney suddenly realized the sheer size of the man's biceps.  Nurses weren't supposed to be that burly.  "Don't you have a 'first do no harm' thing?"  
  
"Not a doctor.  Wouldn't want to be.  I'm a nurse.  I know the value of a little bit of harm here and there for the greater good.  We're practical, McKay."  The nurse kept his hand on Rodney's arm, pulling him along as he headed towards the exit.    
  
"You're going to dislocate my shoulder!"  Rodney tried to jerk his arm back.  It was a bit like trying to arm wrestle Ronon after a few drinks, something Rodney had done exactly once before realizing that there was not enough liquor in the entire galaxy to make it worth it.  
  
"Not if you move.  Let's go."  
  
"I outrank you!"  
  
"We're not even in the same command chain, but I can contact either Major Lorne or Doctor Beckett if you'd like to go up my chain," the nurse said, voice sweet, calm and kind.  
  
Rodney didn't trust it.  He knew better than to trust anyone making that sound.  "Fine.  Fine, I'm moving.  I'm going to my room.  I'll come with Colonel Sheppard's breakfast."  
  
"He's under a no food order for the morning.  He'll be in tests for most of the day.  I recommend you give us space."  
  
"He's not allowed visitors?"  
  
"If you want, we can revisit your allergy test results at the same time.  We could test both of you together.  We have approximately a hundred new samples to test, if you want."  
  
"What?"  
  
"The only people here tomorrow until at least dinner time will be medical personnel or people receiving medical treatment.  If you want medical treatment, we can arrange that.  If you don't, you can wait until Colonel Sheppard's been treated and tested."  
  
"That's completely unfair.  What about his morale?  His mental health?"  
  
"It's not like we're isolating him for long.  He wants out of here.  The faster we get our tests done, the faster he can go back to his quarters.  He wanted everything done as quickly as possible, so we're respecting his desires for treatment."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Yes, ah.  Now go to bed, McKay."  
  
Rodney dragged his feet as he went, but he did go to bed, miserably.  All he wanted was to figure out where he stood with John, but that wasn't an option.  He'd have to wait.

 

  
If there was one more needle anywhere near him, John was going to scream and burst out of his bubble like the fucking KoolAid man.  He'd lost count somewhere around a hundred, with pinpricks over what felt like his entire body.  He vaguely itched in four different places--all of them tree pollens--and had shown zero signs of reaction to anything else.  But still the needles came.  One thing after another after another and it was frustrating.  He'd never held so still for so long in his life and it was actually going to drive him insane if it kept going.  "Okay, we're done," he said, drawing away from the next needle.  
  
"We've fifteen more samples for this arm," Carson said, looking up from his clipboard.  
  
"And they're going to have to wait," John said.  "I'm done."  
  
"You're more than three quarters done.  If you just make it through the end of this, you'll be able to relax.  We'll be done."  
  
"If you jab me again, I'm going to see if I can wrestle a nurse to the ground and win."  
  
"Colonel."  
  
"Doctor."  
  
"Please, just let us finish doing our jobs."  
  
"I'm losing my mind here."  
  
"John," Carson said, coming closer.  "I'm trying to get you back in fighting shape as quickly as we can.  I was looking forward to those sort of marshmallow things Teyla said she got from the... what did she call them?"  
  
"Aritreans?"  
  
"Yes, the Aritreans.  I'm hoping you can get out there and secure a trade agreement with them sooner, rather than later."  
  
"Then clear me."  
  
"I'm working on it, lad.  Sit still and let us keep testing."  
  
If they touched him again, he really was going to kill someone.  John shook his head.  "No can do.  I need a few hours."  
  
Carson sighed heavily.  "We won't be able to pick back up until the day after tomorrow if you take a break now.  Your skin will need time to recover."  
  
"Why can't you just use the untouched skin later?"  
  
"Because sometimes reactions grow and travel once they sit in your system.  We need these all at as close to the same time as we can manage to make this properly effective or we might not know which sample affected you."  
  
John narrowed his eyes and looked at Carson's face.  He watched, he waited.  He just looked and, sure enough, there was the flinch.  "You're lying.  You just want this done faster."  
  
"I'm not!"  
  
"You are.  I know you are.  Just let me out of here for an hour, even.  Just a break, Carson."  
  
"No."  
  
"Then I'll sign myself out AMA."  John wasn't sure how someone actually even did that.  Usually, he just snuck out when everyone was busy with someone else if he needed to escape the infirmary's tender mercies.  Usually, he wasn't in a bubble where everyone could see him, though.  
  
"Will you, then?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Refusing medical treatment could get you sent back to Earth for evaluation.  You need to think long and hard about what you're proposing."  
  
"At least let me have a damn break."  
  
"We've only got another twenty minutes to go here.  Why take a break now when you can just be done?"  
  
There was a logic to Carson's words, but John didn't think his frayed self control could take it.  "I'm going out of my mind here.  I feel like some kind of museum exhibit and it's exhausting.  It's boring.  I can't take anymore of it."  
  
"I know.  You're a man of action, but this is out of your control right now."  
  
"I hate that," John muttered.  
  
"I know you do.  We still have to do this."  
  
"You're just pissing me off now.  I'm not letting you do anymore of this because it's making me insane."  
  
"We're almost done.  Please."  
  
"I'm done.  I'm done now.  I'm done with the pricking and the itching and the--"  
  
"Itching?"  Carson frowned, stepping in still closer to peer at John's skin.  
  
John looked down and realized he was scratching his arm, where it itched.  Where dozens of little pinpricks were suddenly inflamed and itching.  
  
"Well, that's hardly what we expected," Carson said with a frown.  "Steroids, antihistamines, now."  
  
The nurses went into a flurry of motion, pushing drugs into John's IV.  For the first time since he'd collapsed on the balcony, John was actually afraid.

 

  
  
"What do you mean he crashed again?" Rodney demanded.  Second try in two days and he was being denied access to John again, but this time it was because he was unconscious.    
  
"I mean he had a massive reaction and I've never seen anything like it.  He was doing just fine, no unusual responses, and suddenly every skin irritation on his body turned into hives and he blew up.  It doesn't make sense.  It was a full-blown histamine response and I don't know why.  There was no differentiation between any of the bloody test sites, nothing.  I need you to recalibrate all of my scanners."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean that I have to be missing something here.  This isn't a typical allergic response so maybe it's an illness.  Some kind of inflammatory disease.  It could be autoimmune, even.  There was a study I got in the last databurst about abnormal immune cells causing anaphylaxis.  I just can't see what this is.  I need better technology.  I need you to make the machines more precise."  
  
"I don't see how I can do that.  You're working with scanners that can literally find a single nanite in an entire human body.  How can I break it down further?"  
"I need to be able to see a virus once it's inside a cell.  I need to be able to see the cell organelles to make sure that they're correctly formed.  I'm at my wits' end here."  
  
Rodney sighed and looked at the stupid scanners.  They were looking at things that didn't make any sense to begin with and Carson wanted him to make sense of the completely implausible?  "I don't think I can do that."  
  
"Well, you're going to have to or I'm going to have to send him across the bridge."  
  
Wait.  What?  How could that even be on the table.  John couldn't be sent home because Carson couldn't figure out something so basic.  "You can't do that!"  
  
"He needs a specialist.  If I can't check everything I can think to, then I need to send him to someone whose theories have the possibility of saving him.  If he's attacking his own body--"  
  
"What do you think a specialist is going to do?  A specialist is going to have shitty tech that can't do half of what you have!"  The idea of trusting John's health to some unknown doctor in an unknown hospital on Earth made Rodney feel sick.  They couldn't just hand him over to whatever passing charlatan offered his wares.  
  
"A specialist actually knows what to look for.  As near as I can tell, he might actually be allergic to himself.  Do you have any idea how terrifying that is?"  
  
"He can't be allergic to himself!  That's impossible."  It was. No one could.  They'd be immune to the allergy or something.  
  
"It's honestly my best guess here.  Either sort out the scanners for me or I'm going to put in to have him sent back."  
  
"Fine."  If that was what it would take to keep them from killing John, Rodney would just have to do the impossible.  He tapped his radio, activating the science channel.  "I need a full team to the infirmary.  We need to break down the medical scanners and give Dr. Beckett a higher resolution image."  
  
"Higher resolution?" came Zelenka's voice.  "How do you think we can manage that?"  
  
"I don't know yet," Rodney said, a little sing-song with irritation.  "Maybe you could get together some equipment and get down here to help me figure that out.  I want to be able to see down to the molecular level."  
  
"In real-time?  No, that is not happening.  We can do simulation, but real time scanning of molecules is beyond our capability."  
  
"Well, if you're afraid of a little challenge, perhaps you would be happier doing maintenance for a southwestern phone company," Rodney snapped.  "Grab equipment, bring everyone."  
  
There was some muttering in Czech, drifting over to Russian as Rodney heard the clatter of Zelenka picking up equipment.  
  
"Watch your mouth.  I'm no crazier than you are," Rodney said, then deactivated his radio.  "It doesn't look good," he told Carson.  "I don't think we can get what you need."  
  
Carson nodded tiredly.  "I was afraid you'd say that.  I'll prepare the paperwork for his transfer in case you can't get this going.  We'll need to move him quickly.  There's only so much I can do to keep him stable without knowing what I'm stabilizing against."  
  
"Don't sign his death certificate yet!"  
  
"A transfer isn't a death certificate.  It's hardly the same thing."  
  
"Of course it's the same thing.  Earth is filled with idiots.  We brought everyone decent to Pegasus."  Rodney turned his back on Carson and headed over to the scanner to start looking it over for inspiration.  Surely they could save John and keep him in Pegasus.  Anything else would be insufficient.

 

  
  
John didn't panic when he woke up with a tube in his throat.  He was proud of that, glad that he'd managed it.  Even when he felt the choking fullness in his throat, he didn't panic.  He just tried to wave an arm and did his best to time his breathing with the ventilator.  In, out, in, out.  He'd timed the ventilator once when a buddy of his had been out and he'd been the only familiar face on the entire continent, hoping for a miracle recovery that hadn't happened.  Sixteen breaths per minute.  In.  Out.  In.  Out.  He couldn't turn his head, he knew that.  He counted the breaths and on breath twenty four, Carson's face came into view.    
"You're awake.  You had us worried for a bit."  
  
John gave a weak thumbs up, struggling to keep his breath absolutely even.  
  
"I'm a little worried about extubating you.  You reacted so suddenly this time."  
  
The idea of being forced to keep the breathing tube terrified him.  John wasn't really much for talking, but there was a difference between not wanting to talk and being unable to talk.  If he couldn't talk, couldn't answer questions, then everything was so far out of his control that he might as well just give up.  He made a movement with his hand that he hoped meant 'get this fucking thing out of me' but he wasn't sure how Carson's sign language was and he was pretty sure that wasn't standard sign language in any place either of them had ever visited.  
  
"You might seem fine right now, but we still don't know what you reacted to."  
  
The ventilator was impossible to keep time with.  He felt like something was ripping the breath right from his chest as he tried to breathe on the wrong cycle.  He repeated the gesture, his brain grabbing on to one of the prayers his mother had loved when she was dying.  It clenched at something in his chest, made it harder not to fight, kept him out of synch with the ventilator.   _Angel of God, my Guardian dear,_  ran through his head, the beeps in time with his heart speeding up on one side while Carson was doing something to the tubes near the breathing machine.   _To whom God's love commits me here_.    
  
John didn't believe in God, hadn't since his mother died, but he couldn't escape the stupid prayer, couldn't make it stop running through his head.  Something changed in the feel of the air coming through the tube, the ventilator didn't pull on its next cycle and John held his breath, waiting for it.  
  
"Breathe," Carson said steadily.  "John, I need you to breathe."  
  
John could do that, could inhale, exhale.  He'd been doing it his entire life, thousands of times a day.  He couldn't see why it was so damn hard to figure out what he was doing.  He needed to cough, there was too much in his throat, he couldn't even swallow, there was no way he could breathe.  
  
"John, inhale," Carson demanded, a little more urgently.  
  
John clenched his fist and sucked in air through the tube.  It felt different from the ventilator and he felt his brain slam back into place as the world made sense again.  
  
"Good."  Carson smiled at him, though John knew him well enough to see the tension around his eyes.  "Few more like that and we'll get your tube out.  Just be warned, if you go down like that again, we'll be keeping the tube in until we sort out what's going on."  
  
John gave him a thumbs up, focussed on breathing in and out steadily.  He was far more aware of the tube than he wanted to be.  It was impossible to ignore even if he closed his eyes.  
  
"I need a nurse to help me extubate," Carson said into his radio.  "Keep your eyes open, John.  I won't be able to pull this if you go back under.  I'll have to leave it in."  
  
John opened his eyes, trying to look away and not let Carson see him freaking out.  He was trying so hard not to but he could feel himself choking and couldn't move anything in his throat to do anything about it.  He focussed on breathing in and out slowly, trying to stay calm in spite of the irrational panic spiralling upwards through his brain.    
  
Finally, though, the nurse came in and with a bunch of pain and a fair amount of clenching his fists to keep from clocking someone, John managed to cooperate enough to get the tube out.  "Did you have to tear out the entire inside of my throat?" he rasped after a quick drink of utterly tasteless water.  It felt like they'd rubbed down the inside of his throat with sandpaper.  
  
"Two intubations so close together are bound to leave irritation, especially when we're fighting that much inflammation," Carson said, a little defensive.  "That's why if you go into another reaction like that, we'll be leaving the tube in.  A tracheotomy would honestly be less damaging than this in and out."  
  
"You're not cutting my damn throat."  
  
"That's why we'll leave the tube in if you do this again.  Do you remember what happened?"  
  
"I blew up in the middle of the allergy tests.  Did you figure it out?"  
  
Carson wore his feelings on his sleeve and he looked so guilty that John could practically smell it even with the harsh iron tang left in his throat from the tube.  "No," he admitted.  "We were able to determine it's not behaving like a normal allergy, but what's actually going on is still beyond us."  
  
"So it's a virus?"  
  
"I don't know yet.  Rodney's got a team working on the scanners.  We'll have a better idea when I can get a look inside your cells."  
  
"Inside?"  
  
"Aye.  I have a theory that I can't pursue until I can see something a little smaller than I can right now."  
  
John coughed, the pain from that searing.  It felt like his entire throat was on fire.  A straw was pressed to his lips and he drank a little more.  "What's the theory?"  
  
"It needs a little more refining."  
  
John glared at him, not flinching even when he heard Rodney shouting from the other end of the infirmary.  Unfortunately, Carson did turn, which meant John couldn't ignore the outburst.  
  
"I don't care if you think it means rewriting _seven_ different laws of physics, we're getting the resolution.  We just need to increase the magnification about ten times and we'll have it."  
  
"Is not a lens, McKay!  Is energy.  The wavelength cannot be condensed further without losing receptor frequencies."  
  
"I don't care if you think that, we'll increase the capacities of the receptors!"  
  
"With what?"  
  
"I don't know!"  
  
"Is not like you can just rub a magic lamp, get genie and change this!"  
  
"That's completely idiotic!"  
  
"Of course, just like--"  
  
"Wait.  Rubbing... heat.  Heat!  If we change the--"  
  
"Yes!  Downward?"  
  
"Zero."  
  
John closed his eyes as their chattering began to bounce off one another, going quieter as Zelenka and Rodney sorted out whatever epiphany they'd just had.  "You think they can do it?" he rasped.  
  
"I think they've got a better chance than anyone else.  Like I said, I've got a theory but there's no actual physical proof of the type I'd need to be sure."  
  
"Tell me?"  
  
"You might be allergic to yourself, effectively.  An autoimmune disorder, a bit like lupus or rheumatoid arthritis.  Your body may be attacking itself for no apparent reason."  
  
"Can you cure it?"  
  
"I'm hoping so, but I don't know yet."  
  
John sighed.  That was exactly what he wanted to hear while he was laying in an infirmary bed feeling like a boiled piece of spaghetti.  "But you're going to figure it out."  
  
"I'll do my best."  
  
There were times when John wished that Carson were as arrogant and full of himself as Rodney was.  It wasn't Rodney's best feature, but Carson's lack of confidence was among his worst.  John needed some reassurance and he wasn't going to get it any time soon.

 

  
  
The recalibration meant building a literal freezer around parts of the medical scanners, using spare parts of compressors from the life support in unused sectors.  Rodney was pretty sure they were going to regret this cannibalizing one day, but he'd regret it more if he didn't save John.  That was his new mantra.  Beat John's body to the chase.  He didn't doubt for one second that whatever was causing the attacks would happen again.  It would keep coming until either they figured it out or John died.    
  
But John wasn't dying because Rodney could build a freezer with both hands nailed to the floor and a blindfold on if he had to.  Freezers were easy.  They were so basic, so simple.  You could train monkeys to build freezers if you wanted to.  He couldn't see why you would, but then again, he hadn't ever understood why anyone would hire an appliance repairman.  It was so simple to fix it yourself that it wasn't worth the wasted time calling.  
  
He was reminded why other people might have some idea that calling would be easier about the time that the dark haired engineer with either a Finnish or a Greek flag on his arm--Rodney wasn't very good at Earth geography--punctured a coil with his screwdriver.  How anyone could be so moronically clumsy, Rodney couldn't understand and he wanted to punch the idiot when he saw the gas hissing out of the coil.  "What the hell were you even doing?"  
  
"Screwing the condenser down, Dr. McK--"  
  
"I don't actually care.  It's not worth my time to listen to your sad excuses.  Colonel Sheppard's life is on the line here.  We don't have time for idiotic mistakes.  We don't have time for apologies.  I don't even have time to run you out of here, because Colonel Sheppard doesn't have the time.  He could blow up like a balloon and die any second.  Do you know what that means?"  
  
"That we have failed?" the Greek asked.    
  
"It means we get Colonel Caldwell, you fuckwit.  Have you met Colonel Caldwell?  Yes?  Then you know exactly how big the stick up his ass is.  If you want to see any scientific progress in this galaxy, you will do everything in your power to protect it from Caldwell's tender mercies.  He doesn't give a fuck what we might learn, he only cares if he can use what we learn to shoot at other people.  At least Colonel Sheppard has half a damn brain.  Do you know how rare that is in career military?"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"We're not military, don't sir me.  And it's pretty damn rare.  Most people with half a brain walk away from the military because it doesn't care who lives or dies as long as one guy is left on their side to plant a flag.  Colonel Sheppard is God's gift to military-run scientific outposts and you're going to take yourself to the secondary life support condensers in the NorthWest spire and find replacements in case Zelenka and I can't fix your idiocy.  Now go!"  Rodney made a shooing motion and watched with satisfaction as the Finn skittered out.   
  
"Shouting will not speed up our work," Zelenka said softly.  "Will only serve to frighten Colonel Sheppard."  
  
"Sheppard's not going to panic because I yelled at someone," Rodney scoffed.  "He's survived worse and he'll keep surviving it because for all he's got a giant suicidal streak, Sheppard's also got the Devil's own luck.  He's going to be fine, as soon as we get this thing rebuilt.  Ugh, I could kill that idiot.  We only have so much gas, we can't let it all leak out.  We can't synthesize anything better than what the Ancients left us!"  
  
"Rodney, is possible we cannot complete this.  It might not even work."  
  
"It's going to work."  
  
"If it does not?"  
  
"Then we try heating things.  This is our best chance of protecting him."  
  
"We don't even know what we are protecting him from."  
  
"Well we will as soon as we finish this.  Now help me patch this hole.  There should be enough gas left in the tank to refill this coil."  
  
"Rodney, you know we might still have to send him back, even if we find the problem?"  
  
"And we might not.  We don't work in mights, Zelenka.  We work in provable facts.  And it is a provable fact that we have the best chance of curing him if we finish this.  So get back to work!"  Rodney watched Zelenka crouch back down and begin carefully soldering a patch onto the coils.    
  
He took a moment to spare a glance over to John.  John was laying still on the bed, staring at the ceiling.  He looked pale, except where his skin was pink, the marks from his own nails visible where he'd scratched at himself as he blew up.  It wasn't a good look on him.  He looked tired, hopeless.  He looked limp and lifeless.  It tore at something in Rodney's chest.  John belonged to the sky, not a bed.  He took a deep breath and turned back to his work, determined not to let John lose hope.

 

  
John couldn't believe that they'd succeeded.  He'd heard every snippy comment, felt the irritation of every one of Rodney's underlings who had been tossed out unceremoniously.  He knew that Rodney had been putting everything he had in the project to give John a fighting chance.  He'd also heard Zelenka's doubtful tones and tentative questions and knew that it had been a long shot.  John had made it, but it was only by merit of having the best team on any possible world at his back.  
  
Of course, they could only do so much.  They couldn't control when he'd next react.  They couldn't tell him what he needed to do or eat or touch to instigate a reaction that Carson would be able to measure.  They couldn't even tell him what measurements he was going to have taken.  They were recording him, from every possible angle.  They had a half dozen scanners aimed at him working in unison.  Each scanner was taking measurements in as close to real-time as was possible, watching every cell of his blood, every flash of his neurons.    
  
He was possibly the most clothed he had ever been in an infirmary or hospital in his life but he had never felt nearly that exposed, no matter who had been in charge of his care.  He literally couldn't even breathe without the scanner taking note of the makeup of every molecule of his breath.  It was intimate and terrifying.  He could easily hide under a pile of blankets and everything would still be out in the open.  Rodney had made that horrifyingly clear while trying to comfort him that this meant they'd be able to fix him.  
  
John wasn't sure he actually could be fixed.  He was starting to have the idea, as horrifying as it was, that he was in big trouble this time.  He hadn't asked, was too afraid to, but the only thing he could really think of that could possibly have caused this was that time he'd been turned into the bug monster.  He'd been so close to losing his mind that he had been grateful when he'd been fixed up, hadn't questioned the idea that he was cured.  He hadn't taken the time to wonder what the consequences might be.  
  
This was some kind of mess up in his immune system.  He'd gotten the iratus bug DNA through a virus.  The virus must have done something to him that had gone unnoticed in light of, well, everything else that had happened to him at the time.  Who would have looked for a tiny problem with a tiny fragment of DNA, probably some of the 'junk' DNA or something.  Carson liked to ramble about that when he'd been drinking.  
  
John was probably still screwed, even with examination on this level and he was the only one prepared to accept it.  He was going to die or he'd end up stuck in a little plastic bubble for the rest of his life with a tube stuck down his throat to keep him alive.  He'd rather be dead than live like that.  He'd need to tell Carson when next he came on shift.  He didn't want to be resuscitated unless they had better than even odds of actually curing him.  He didn't want to keep having things shoved down his throat, didn't want to deal with the shit that came with having an incurable, intractable medical condition.  He couldn't bear the idea of living in the infirmary or being confined to an apartment somewhere.  The idea of living life with a hole in his throat or a tube down it made him feel sick.  No, if this was the new normal, if they turned out not to be able to help him, he wanted to die.    
  
He wondered if he could convince them to let him take a suicide run at something Wraith-related.  He'd like to go out fighting rather than in a bed, if it came down to it.  He wanted to take someone or something down with him if it was his time.  He didn't want to go out with a sad, pathetic whimper and not enough air, that was for sure.  He'd prefer explosive decompression if he were given a choice.  Gun would be good, but he couldn't guarantee he wouldn't survive that.  He'd prefer not to be eaten by a Wraith but maybe he could convince Carson to infect him with something horrifying that would spread rapidly through a hive ship.  That would be worth getting the life sucked right out of him over.  
  
If it came right down to it, if they were insistent on keeping him alive, he'd go to Ronon.  Ronon wouldn't make him stay in a bubble.  Ronon would take him out somewhere and let him go out the right way.  Ronon would let him be useful at the end.  He'd understand.  
  
John stared at the ceiling and tried to think of worlds he could ask Ronon to take him to, ones where he'd be able to make an effective plan to die.  He let his eyes trace the soft curves that made up the shapes where ceiling met wall, considered how much it would be worth it to die to keep those walls safe.  It would be completely worth it.  
  
"Okay, so, we need to talk," came Rodney's voice from nearby.  
  
John jumped and sat up, turning.  Rodney was standing near the screen that showed John's heartbeat, looking worried.  "Do we really?  I'm a bit busy trying to die the perfect amount for Carson to get some pretty pictures here."  
  
Rodney rolled his eyes.  "It might not happen for hours.  It might never happen.  Whatever's happened might have cleared your system."  
  
"So you don't think it's an allergy?"  
  
Rodney shrugged.  "Do I look like a wizard to you?  I don't know.  I honestly don't care.  I've managed to get us about fifteen minutes where no one's monitoring you directly so we can finish the conversation we were having."  
  
"You scared off the medical staff?"  
  
"Not exactly...  I sort of... had a conversation with Carson where I... might have implied that... your morale was a little low.  And that a lack of privacy wasn't helping."  
  
Rodney had never implied anything in his life.  John was pretty sure he didn't know the meaning of the word and, even if he did, that he wouldn't be able to actually imply.  John narrowed his eyes, his mind putting together the pieces like blocks of lego.  "You told him."  
  
"I didn't tell him anything!"  
  
"Yes you did.  How much detail did you give him?"  
  
"None!  I didn't tell him anything.  I--"  
  
"You told him something.  He'd never let you run off his staff during patient monitoring over a little morale issue."  
  
"He might have, you know, guessed a thing or two?"  
  
John felt his heart sink into his shoes.  He officially didn't think he wanted to live through this.  It was going to end up in his medical records.  If he wasn't careful, it was going to ruin his career and he wasn't going to be able to stay in Atlantis.  He might be healthy, sure, but he'd have been better off dead.  "Rodney.  You know full well that no one can know about us.  You know that.  You know what the consequences are."  
  
"It's not going to affect us!  Carson's not some closed-minded American idiot."  
  
"He writes my medical records."  
  
"And he's not going to put it in.  I promise.  He wouldn't.  He knows he has to be careful!"  
  
"But what if he lets something slip?"  
  
"He won't.  I know he won't.  He wouldn't put you at risk like that.  Besides, I think he's got a thing about hating the fact that he has to put your records in your service record.  He believes in doctor-patient confidentiality.  You're safe."  
  
"That still doesn't explain how you managed to get time here without the staff."  It didn't.  It honestly didn't explain a damn thing, couldn't.  
Rodney looked, if anything, still shiftier.  John didn't like it.  He didn't like Rodney trying to keep secrets from him and he definitely didn't like it when those secrets were probably about him.  He stared Rodney down coldly, waiting patiently for Rodney to break.  Rodney, as ever, didn't disappoint.  
  
"I may have said something to the effect of wanting... I shouldn't say this.  It's going to actually be bad for your morale."  
  
John set his jaw and put every bit of warning he could into his tone.  "McKay."  
  
"I sort of told him I was afraid you'd die and I'd never get a chance to say goodbye.  I may have implied that I wanted a few last minutes with you in case everything went to shit?"  
  
John stared in horror.  "Do you actually think I'm going to die?"  
  
"No, of course not.  I only said that so he'd tell his staff to go away.  We improved the scanners with a few broken pieces of tech and a bunch of hard work.  You're not going to be inconsiderate enough to die and make us look stupid.  You're better than that."   
  
Rodney's tone was so dismissive, so classically Rodney that John felt--and heard on the monitor--his heart slow down to a normal pace.  "Good.  So what did you want to say, then, if you don't think I'm going to die?"  
  
"I wanted to clarify what our relationship is, actually.  I don't think you're being obtuse on purpose, but you were trying to let me know where you thought we landed when you collapsed and I thought we should just have that clarification."  
  
"And it couldn't wait until I'm out of the infirmary?"  
  
Rodney looked like he had a little shame for once in his life.  It wasn't a good look on him.  "Uh, well."  
  
"And people say _I'm_  impatient!  You couldn't wait until we were sure I was going to be okay?"  
  
"I, that is... I just... If you want, it can wait.  You're right.  We should be focussed on this."  Rodney waved a hand at the plastic bubble and the infirmary.  
  
John sighed and shifted to let his legs dangle off the side of the bed.  "No, it's fine.  We've got the time now, we might as well get it out of the way.  Like ripping off a bandaid, right?"  
  
Rodney looked crestfallen, like he was deflating.  "Oh.  You wanted to breakup.  Sorry.  I completely misunderstood."  
  
"Wait, what?"  John stared at Rodney a moment.  "Where did you get the idea that we were... ending our arrangement?"  
  
"But you just said we should get it over with."  
  
"I meant talking about this stuff, not... this stuff!"  
  
Rodney crossed his arms.  "Well you could have said that."  
  
"I did!"  
  
"You're even worse at this than I am."  
  
"Probably.  You know I passed out at my own wedding?"  
  
"What?"  There was no mistaking the way Rodney's lips tugged upwards at the corners as he fought away a smile.  
  
"I uh, was a little hung over and I had a little heat stroke and the whole talking about... you know."  John sneered.  "Feelings.  In public.  I passed out.  Dehydration."  
  
"That's an auspicious beginning."  
  
"Well, I'm divorced, aren't I?  Well, pretty much everyone in the military is, but even if I'd stayed out, I'm pretty sure I'd be divorced.  I'm just... bad at this."  
  
"So you want to get the conversation over with?"  
  
"Might as well, right?  You cleared our schedules."  
  
"Yeah."  Rodney stared at him, clearly waiting for him to say something else.  
  
John glanced away, unable to hold Rodney's gaze.  "Then talk.  Come on, Rodney.  Usually I can't shut you up."  
  
"This was your conversation, though.  You had things to say.  So say them."  
  
"I don't even remember how the conversation started.  I don't remember much other than getting to the balcony.  That we were talking.  It all sort of got overwritten by the almost dying thing."  
  
"You were talking about the kinds of feelings you had for me and where you thought this relationship was going.  If it was a relationship."  
  
"Of course it's a relationship.  I see you every day."  
  
"That's my line, actually.  I basically said that.  You were trying to define it more."  
  
"I didn't know we had lines.  You want to hand me a script here?"  
  
Rodney sighed.  "Okay, so you were telling me about your feelings without saying a word about them.  You wanted me to fill in the blanks.  I can't.  So tell me them.  I need to know because sometimes I think someone feels a certain way and then they don't and I can't take that with you.  We're teammates and I have to be able to work with you even if that stopped and I don't want it to stop.  I'd take being your teammate and coworker if that was all I could have and I'd be happy enough."  
  
"So why don't you start by telling me how you feel about me?"  
  
"Because you have to go first.  You started this conversation.  You're not walking away from it.  You're not pretending it's not happening.  This isn't Star Wars.  You're not Han Solo.  You don't get to just say 'I know' and assume I know that you think the same as me.  Or that I don't.  So spell it out."  
  
Rodney wanted John to go through hell and back for him.  That sounded wonderful.  Like such fun.  Like exactly the type of thing John wanted to do while covered in sensors and with a scanner recording every cell that moved when his heart beat.  Still, John couldn't see a way around it.  He was a captive audience and a forced participant in the conversation and, worse, he could see exactly why it was necessary.  
  
Rodney probably did know already.  He had to.  There was no way he could actually have missed it.  The crippling self-doubt that seemed to love pretending to be an ego the size of a supernova would absolutely keep him from seeing it or, more accurately, believing it.  He'd never believe that anyone cared about him.  He'd believe that they wanted his brain, but never that they wanted him.  It was something that John had exploited on occasion and it was upsetting to see how effective it really was.  
  
John really needed to tell Rodney, that was obvious now that he'd thought about it.  In fact, he'd pretty clearly already decided that once, unless Rodney was embarrassing himself hideously by lying.  It seemed unlikely, however, that Rodney was lying.  It was just unbelievable enough and sounded just enough like what John remembered that John was pretty sure it was fact.  
  
He just really didn't want to have the conversation.  He wanted to stick his head in the sand, spend time alternately trying to ignore his feelings and psyching himself up so he could talk about them.  That was about the stage he'd been at last he remembered but something must have happened to make him change his mind on it and now there were bigger issues at hand.  
  
On the one hand, John would really prefer a better setting.  He didn't want every molecule of his being watched and dissected while he talked about this kind of thing.  He wanted to tell Rodney to wait until he was healthy, to wait until everything was okay again, until John felt safe.  On the other hand, John was fairly sure that he wasn't going to get through this one.  He wasn't sure he was getting better.  He didn't know what was happening to him, but he did know that he'd beat the odds too many times and that luck couldn't possibly be on his side.  Would it be better for him to die with Rodney knowing for sure how he felt or for Rodney to get to guess forever?  
  
Rodney hated guessing.  John steeled himself.  "It's safe to say that I, uh, have some feelings for you."  
  
"Yes, yes, you've said that part already.  We've gone around on it.  You said you have feelings.  I want to know which ones.  I don't want to make any mistakes about what you're saying."  
  
"You kind of have an unfair advantage here," John said.  "You already know how this conversation goes.  I don't."  
  
"Okay, fine.  I'm shutting up so you can talk."  
  
"Maybe don't shut up all the way," John said, his voice rising in panic.  "You can talk too.  It's probably better if you do.  I mean, words, those can be a mess.  You better check, clarify.  I don't know what I'm doing here."  
  
"Obviously not if you passed out the last time you had this conversation."  
  
"I've had relationships since I was married!" John protested.  
  
"And you cheated with your left hand to make your right jealous?"  
  
"McKay," John growled.  
  
"Right, right, okay, yes.  You have feelings.  Could you maybe elaborate just a little on that?"  
  
"Sure." John swallowed, reached for his glass of water and took another tasteless sip.  Distilled water always tasted flat with a weird acidic undertone.  "Right.  So.  Feelings.  There are certain ones that come up through bonding.  Through, you know, spending time together."  
  
"Brotherly ones?"  
  
John almost spat some water at the clear plastic between them.  "God, I hope not.  That would be weird and illegal.  Trust me, I feel completely differently for you than I do for David.  I feel... much more, uh... inclined.  With you."  
  
"Inclined for what?" Rodney asked.  "Is it just sex?"  
  
"No, not at all.  Well.  Some. I like sex.  You're good at sex.  You'd have to be.  Angles and all.  You're good at those."  
  
"Yes, yes, sex is all math.  Anyone who doesn't realize that doesn't know anything more basic than addition.  Back to the feelings, please."  
  
"Okay.  So.  Sex sometimes has, you know, certain feelings attached."  
  
"Yes.  Sometimes it's even hatred."  
  
"Stop being obtuse, Rodney."  
  
"Start being clear."  
  
John grabbed at his own hair irritably.  "I am!  I'm trying, anyway."  
  
"You're leaving out pretty much any word that would clarify anything."  
  
"Right.  Okay.  So.  I like sex.  I like sex with you more than with other people.  And it's not just the math thing.  It's... I, you know, I like you.  I like when you're... there."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"There.  Wherever there is.  Nearby."  
  
"So is it familiarity?"  
  
"No, it's more like...  Warm.  More warm than that?"  
  
"Such as?"  
  
John's stomach tightened with nerves and he clenched his hands to keep from pulling at the IV tape.  It was coming loose or something--it itched and it was distracting him.  "Caring?  
  
"So you care about me in which way?"  
  
Rodney was actually going to make him say it out loud and it was just getting ridiculous at this point.  John took a deep breath, swallowed.  Opened his mouth.  Closed it.  Opened it again.  "I think, probably, I..."  Another deep breath.  Tried to ignore the churning in his stomach.  "I love y--" Suddenly and abruptly he was vomiting, the churning having kicked it up into over drive.  A stream of watery regurgitated MRE hit the plastic barrier right in front of Rodney.  
  
Rodney stepped back, startled and looking more than a little hurt.  
  
"I'm sorry," John said, voice wavering.  He gagged, choked, started to throw up again, this time at the floor.  Dimly, he heard Rodney's voice, shouting for help, getting more distant as, he hoped, Rodney went to find the medical staff.  He forced his head between his knees and tried desperately to breathe.  His throat felt tight and he couldn't seem to stop vomiting in between gasping attempts to get breath in.  He'd never been so happy in his life to be surrounded by medical staff, had never welcomed a stab wound as much as he did when he felt what had to be an epipen.  He really didn't want to die via anaphylaxis, but he was pretty sure it was the end.

 

  
  
Carson was a terrifying man.  Rodney forgot this pretty often but when Carson was in 'full doctor' mode, Carson reminded Rodney of his grandmother.  He'd spent the first six years of his life convinced that the elderly Scottish woman was going to kill him.  Then she'd died and Rodney had decided that he was better off for it.  Rodney did not actually want Carson dead, but he really wished he could escape the man's wrath so easily.  
  
"What on Earth were you _thinking?"_ Carson spat, inches from Rodney's face.  Rodney was glad that the office door was closed because he was pretty sure that everyone in the city would hear him if it hadn't been.  
  
"I didn't do anything.  We were just talking!"  
  
"You must have given him something!"  
  
"I thought our operational theory here was that he was allergic to himself!  Why are you accusing me of doing anything?  I didn't hand him anything, I didn't open his bubble, I didn't do anything wrong!  We were just talking!"  
  
Carson threw his hands up in the air.  "Well you said you'd make sure he was safe!"  
  
"I can't help that he had a reaction.  He had a reaction when you were standing right next to him!  The only difference is you have data now!  There's data telling you exactly what happened in his body so rather than yelling at me, get analyzing it!"  
  
"I need to know exactly what you were doing!"  
  
"We were talking!  I told you!"  
  
Carson whirled around and turned to the data on his laptop.  "I'm going to find out what you did!"  
  
"Go ahead!  You'll see I didn't do anything!"  
  
"Sex, mutual masturbation?"  
  
"Why are you so obsessed with my sex life?  Do you want in on it?  Because I'm pretty sure I'm probably in an exclusive relationship now!"  
  
"I'm straight and you're a terrible kisser!"  
  
"You were kissing Cadman!"  
  
"You were helping.  You need to work on your oral hygiene!"  Carson, amazingly, was managing to be a petty asshole while scrolling through information.  
  
"I brush my teeth all the time!  My oral hygiene is great!  You're practically English, you're the one with the terrible oral hygiene!"  
  
"If I didn't think you might be the key to saving Sheppard's life, I'd throw you off a pier and feed you to the whales!" Carson snapped.    
  
"Touchy touchy."  
  
"You're a perfect example of everything wrong with America!"  
  
"I'm Canadian!"  
  
"You wouldn't know it to hear you--"  Carson cut himself off and stared at the screen.  
  
Rodney recognized that look.  It was the look of epiphany.  "What?"  
  
"His histamine levels start to rise right here."  Carson pointed.  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Histamine is what causes allergic responses.  Too much of it overwhelms the body."  
  
"Right."  
  
"This protein spikes right then, too."  Carson pointed at something else.  
  
"Sure."  
  
"I've isolated the protein before.  I've only really seen it in people who've recently had the gene therapy and only in people on whom it works.  I thought it had something to do with ATA activation, but I usually only see it right at the beginning, not with repeated activations.  I decided maybe it was a byproduct of the retrovirus itself, but John's never had it."  
  
"Didn't need it, lucky bastard."  
  
"Yes, but it's here in his system."  
  
"So?"  
  
"So it's coming from somewhere."  
  
"The Wraith retrovirus?"  
  
"I used a different retrovirus as the base," Carson said.    
  
"Then what?"  
  
"It has to be related to the ATA gene.  That's the only thing that makes sense."  Carson frowned and considered it.  "Your Ancient is better than mine."  
  
"Of course it is," Rodney said.  
  
"Pull up a seat.  I need anything you can find on the mechanism by which the ATA gene works."  
  
"That's a pretty broad subject."  
  
Carson turned and looked at him.  "What were you talking about?  Very specifically, both times."  
  
"That's really none of your business."  Rodney wasn't going to share all that with someone who had no reason to be involved.  It was private and he was pretty sure John would hit him.  Probably a lot.  Possibly with Teyla's sticks.  
  
"As John's physician--"  
  
"A conversation isn't germane to the issue at hand."  
  
"Unless it is.  I need to know exactly what you were talking about because it might help narrow down exactly what we're looking for, here!"  
  
"How?  I mean, honestly, how can it narrow anything down?"  
  
"I won't bloody well know until you tell me, now will I?"  
  
Carson had maybe a very small point.  It was incredibly unlikely that telling him what was up would actually fix anything.  It was incredibly unlikely that he would draw any conclusions.  It was far more likely that he would get frustrated, throw his hands up in the air and say that was completely irrelevant.  It was still going to be a betrayal of John's trust.  "I can't tell you."  Rodney felt a little twinge of guilt at that, but no.  He wasn't going to say anything.  
  
Carson nodded, then tapped his radio.  "Ronon, report to the infirmary please."  
  
"Ronon?  Why Ronon?  He hasn't even been near John since this started.  You know how he is.  He's all about the manly hugging and he hates being in the infirmary when he can't be all touchy-feely with people."  
  
"He's incredibly good at extracting information."  
  
"You can't have me tortured because I'm not telling you what John and I were talking about!"  
  
Carson smiled and Rodney was again reminded of his grandmother.  His grandmother had had significantly fewer teeth, though.  Carson was all teeth.  "Who said I'd have you tortured?  I just thought maybe Ronon would be interested in the fact that you're keeping medically relevant information from me."  
  
"I'm not!"  
  
"Then what were you talking about?"  
  
Rodney was rapidly running out of options.  Ronon was loyal, sure, but he was more loyal to John than anyone else, for some absurd reason.  Carson came in a close second, probably because of the fact that he'd got the tracker out.  It wasn't looking good for Rodney.  "Fine.  Fine, call off your barbarian.  We were talking about the state of our relationship."  
  
"More detail, Rodney.  What about it?"  
  
"If it was more than just mutually enjoyable adrenaline-fuelled sex," Rodney grumbled, unable to meet Carson's eyes.  John was going to kill him.  
  
Carson shook his head.  "No, that's no good."  
  
"I told you!  If you tell John I told you that, I'll make sure you never see hot water again as long as you live."  
  
"I won't.  All right.  Just look at anything with the ATA gene mentioned, start translating as much as you can, because I don't have any idea what we're looking for."

 

  
John was miserable, but glad he hadn't needed to be intubated the last time.  His throat was raw from vomiting, but at least he hadn't had a tube shoved down it.  He'd take whatever small mercies he could get.  He lay on his side, curled up, the blanket covering all but his head.  He was tired.  He felt swimmy and awful from all the drugs.  There were so many antihistamines in his system that he couldn't think straight and he kept almost nodding off to sleep.  
  
He was afraid to sleep, though, sure that if he had a reaction in his sleep, he wouldn't wake up.  Dying in his sleep had always seemed like the least appealing of the options.  He'd rather be awake until the last, face it all head on.    
  
He heard the bubble unzipping and he turned, frowning.  He blinked rapidly to focus his eyes and track who was there.  It was Carson and he wasn't wearing a suit.  "I'm really dying, then."  
  
Carson looked guilty, but shook his head.  "No, we've got something.  There's a protein you're producing intermittently.  You're allergic to it."  
  
"That sounds bad."  He was allergic to himself.  There was no escaping the allergen.  Carson wasn't suited up because there wasn't anything Carson could do to protect him from a protein he was making.  
  
"Well, I'll be honest with you, it's got me stymied.  I can't figure out why you're producing it.  I've only seen it in a handful of people before and only under specific circumstances.  You don't fit those circumstances."  
  
"What are they?"  
  
"The gene therapy.  You're a natural gene carrier.  You've never been exposed to an infectious dose of the retrovirus I use for it."  
  
"The iratus--"  
  
"No.  That's not possible."  
  
"So that's it, then.  We just... wait?"  
  
"No, we analyze.  We analyze everything you've been doing, try to figure out why you're producing it at specific times and not others."  
  
"So I just sit here and keep getting scanned?"  
  
"You tell me everything you were doing."  
  
"You were here for one of the reactions."  
  
"There must have been something you were doing that all three had in common."  
  
"There wasn't.  Twice I was..."  John looked around and saw that the infirmary was suspiciously empty.  He narrowed his eyes.  
  
"Doctor-patient confidentiality.  I have to ask you something more detailed than I often would, now you get privacy.  And oddly enough, your records have suddenly got a character limit.  I can't possibly relay whatever we talk about in any great detail."  
  
John sighed.  He was so tired.  He just wanted to get out of the damn bubble.  He was willing to do anything.  "I was talking to Rodney.  About us."  
  
"And the other time you were getting allergy tests.  Stress, maybe?"  Carson thought about it.  "We can test for that easily enough."  
  
"I'm under stress all the time, though.  All you have to do is say the word bug and I break out into a sweat.  That doesn't make any sense."  
  
"No, it doesn't.  You haven't noticed any stomach pain when you were stressed, when you're coming in hot?"  
  
"Not really.  Those are honestly probably my healthiest moments.  Everything just makes sense."  
  
"So you were talking to Rodney about you and him.  Your feelings for each other, that kind of thing?"  
  
"Do you need details?  Because I'm pretty sure I'll die of embarrassment."  John could feel his face flushing.  "I didn't do very well trying to get it all across to him and I freaked him out.  I hate freaking him out.  I care about him, you know?  I think it's serious, like, l-word serious."  His stomach churned.  Speaking publicly about his feelings always just made him sick, but if he was going to die, he owed Rodney someone who knew how he'd felt about him.  An alarm chimed from one of the scanners.   
  
Carson stood, frowning, and reached into a drawer next to John's bed to pull out the now-familiar phial of epinephrine.  
  
"Carson?"  
  
"You're so full of antihistamines you might be all right."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You're having a reaction."  
  
"No."  
  
"I set the scanners to alert me when you went over a certain level of the protein."  
  
"But this is how I always feel."  
  
"All the time?"  
  
John shook his head.  No, not all the time.  "It's anxiety.  It only happens when I talk about, you know.  Certain things."  
  
Carson blinked at him.  "Anxiety?"  
  
"Yeah.  They made me go to a therapist after Mom died.  Therapist said the stomach aches were just anxiety.  It hardly ever bothers me anymore."  It was embarrassing to talk about and he hoped it wouldn't end up in his record.  He'd sort of lied about it a little when he'd enlisted.  
  
"And you got them whenever you talked about how you... how you felt about your mother's death?"  There was a hint of something like wonder, the sort of tone Rodney got when he saw a ZPM, in Carson's voice.  
  
John shrugged.  "Yeah, I guess so."  
  
Carson stared and then suddenly his eyes came into abrupt focus, the spark of an idea appearing behind them.  He hit his radio.  "Rodney, I'm going to need your translation skills.  I know what I'm looking for to diagnose Colonel Sheppard."  
  
"What is it?" John asked.  He made a face when Carson just waved a hand at him and swept out, leaving the bubble open behind him.  He hated being left behind when scientists went crazy.  He hated being itchy, but he wasn't nearly as itchy as he had been.  He laid back down to fight sleep again.    
  
"He's trying to ascend?" Rodney asked, double checking his translation of the entries Carson had asked for help with.    
  
"No, his body is.  John's effectively an Ancient.  Genetically, I'd be hard pressed to tell the difference between him and any Ancient whose DNA we've been able to get anything approaching a look at.  I'd guess he's no different than them at all.  He's got a particularly strong expression of the ATA gene and when something like that happens, it can be because of any one of a few things.  It can be epigenetic, for example, his environment encouraging a stronger expression.  It can be a dominant gene that he's got a pair of, giving him more of a specific protein.  I believe that, in John's case, his 'gene' is actually multiple loci working in tandem.  That's why he's so good at what he does."  
  
"You realize you don't make any sense."  
  
"John's got more than one gene, Rodney.  Not just the same one you got when I gave you the gene therapy."  
  
"Ah.  And he's trying to ascend why?"  
  
"We know some Ancients didn't ascend.  I think that's because they only got some of the loci necessary for full ascension.  John has all of them or maybe just most of them.  More than most gene carriers, anyway.  So when he does certain things, his body prepares for ascension."    
  
"That's stupid."  
  
"Yes, well, evolution often appears to be drunk."  
  
"I think it's been dropping acid if it thinks John wants to ascend."  
  
"Come on.  We need to explain this to John."  Carson swept out and ran to John's bedside.  He was already explaining in full swing by the time Rodney got there, dragging his feet a little.    
  
"Basically," Carson was saying, "You're allergic to ascension."  
  
"I don't understand why you think I'm ascending."  
  
"You're not.  It's talking about your feelings that's the problem, really.  It appears to be part of the ascension process.  Letting go of burdens."  
  
"Burdens," John said flatly.  "So all I have to do is keep my feelings to myself and I'll be fine?  Doesn't sound so bad."  
  
"Hardly.  We know next to nothing about ascension.  Just staying quiet about the way things make you feel won't be enough protection, because we don't know what else might trigger this particular protein's production."  
  
"This sounds like even more ridiculous voodoo than your usual theories," Rodney said.  "I'm not convinced it makes any scientific sense whatsoever."  
  
"It's the only thing that does make sense and I'm just sorry it took me so long to figure out.  I have an idea about how to treat it, though."  
  
Rodney watched John's face carefully.  It looked like he wanted to say something but was stopping himself.  Rodney was pretty sure this was going to make John even more taciturn for a very long time.  "What is it?" Rodney asked finally.  
  
"Allergy shots."    
  
"Those don't work," Rodney said, rolling his eyes.  "They're bullshit, like homeopathy.  My mother took me to some idiot who claimed he'd be able to cure me of my allergies and I almost died.  Are you looking to kill John?"  
  
"Not at all.  There's been some really interesting work lately in immunotherapy.  What I'm proposing is that we get John to give us blood while he's got an elevated level of the protein in his system, then we go ahead and pull the protein out, very carefully.  Once I've isolated it, I'll dilute it to microdoses and John will get a tiny amount every day so his body develops a tolerance."  
  
John finally did speak and Rodney was relieved that John hadn't decided to become mute.  "So you want me to do what keeps trying to kill me and then you'll take a bunch of my blood?"  
  
"When you say it that way, it sounds far more dangerous than it is," Carson assured him.  "You'll be heavily dosed with antihistamines first, so your body can't mount a response to the protein.  You'll be quite all right."  
  
"This sounds insane," John said.  "I'm not sure I'm willing to put myself through that."  
  
"I don't have a better source for the protein."  
  
"You said that you can get it when new gene users activate tech the first few times," Rodney said, snapping his fingers and pointing in accusation.  
  
"I said that's the only time I see it.  Unfortunately, I don't have a large pool of candidates to retrieve samples from right now.  Everyone who's been a decent candidate has already had the gene therapy and I can't wait until the Daedalus comes back with a new batch of people.  Most of them have had the therapy anyway.  We need to get this underway as soon as possible so that we can reduce the severity and frequency of the reactions."  
  
"I don't think I should do this," John said, his voice flat and a little irritated.    
  
"I can go get Heightmeyer for you, if you need a neutral person to talk to," Carson offered.  
  
Under any other circumstance, Rodney would have backed up that idea completely.  Until now, Rodney would have said that John needed a lot more therapy than could reasonably be provided by a single therapist but that a single therapist would be a good start.  "Talking to a therapist could literally kill him," Rodney snapped.  "Are you a complete moron?"  
  
"It used to make me physically ill," John said, his words measured and obviously very well considered before he spoke.  "I have had some upsetting experiences with this kind of thing.  It makes more sense, but I'm not talking to Heightmeyer.  I actually think I never will again if I can help it.  How many Air Force personnel can get away with not debriefing with a shrink due to a medical issue?  I fully intend to make use of this."  
  
"You don't have to talk about anything that she'd worry about or that might make you ill," Carson said.  
  
"I'm not doing it," John insisted.  
  
"Talking to Heightmeyer or getting me some of that protein?"  
  
"Either."  John crossed his arms across his chest and glared.    
  
"Isn't there some other way?" Rodney asked.  
  
"Not that makes any real sense.  Rodney, I can't think of any alternative to allergen immunotherapy at this point.  Normally, I wouldn't suggest it for an allergy that causes anaphylaxis but in this case I can't imagine that it would be a good idea not to.  It's worth the risk."  
  
"Even if he's the one that has to put his life on the line to get the protein for you?  You want to almost kill him just so you can possibly save him?"  
  
"I want him to be able to live a normal life."  
  
"There's nothing normal about anything in any of our lives," Rodney insisted.  They lived in space.  On a city.  On a foreign planet.  In another galaxy.  Where alien vampires wanted to suck out years of their lives like some kind of twisted organic version of the machine in the Princess Bride.  What did they have that looked like normal?  
  
"Rodney, if he doesn't have this immunotherapy, given the nature of the allergen, I'll have to recommend that John be given a medical discharge."  
  
Rodney stared.  A medical discharge?  What, being released from the infirmary?  
  
"He means he'll have to recommend that I get tossed out of the Air Force," John said, the scratchiness in his throat masked by a thickness Rodney had never heard there before.  "He means I'll get sent home and be asked to start drawing my pension."  
  
"Then I'll hire you.  I'll bring you back to Atlantis as part of my staff."  
  
"He won't pass the medical," Carson said quietly.    
  
"I'm pretty sure this would get classed in the list of things that would mean I couldn't even get a commercial pilot's license.  Even a recreational one."  John's hands were twisted up in the sheets and he was staring straight ahead, the tension in his shoulders and neck strong enough that Rodney was pretty sure if he touched John, he'd twang like a guitar string.  "I'd never fly again.  I'm not even sure I'd be safe to drive."  
  
"That's ridiculous."  
  
"If I could just drop over at any time?" John said.  "That's like a seizure disorder.  I'd be housebound."    
  
Rodney hadn't heard John sound shaken in a long time.  The last time he could remember, there had been an enormous bug stuck to John's neck and their jumper had been stuck halfway through the gate.  John was terrified.  "Then do the treatment."  
  
"The treatment might actually kill me."  
  
"So might going through the gate or, I don't know, flying nukes into a Hive ship?  You do that stuff, though."  
  
"This is different."  
  
"Yeah, this time you have better odds of surviving," Rodney snapped.  "It doesn't fit in with the whole man in black brooding suicide thing you've got going on, does it?"  
  
"Rodney!  That is enough!" Carson grabbed Rodney's arm and gave it a hard warning squeeze.  "If you're going to behave like this, I'll toss you out on your arse and let John make his own decisions.  Because it is.  He gets to make the choices here.  His body, his choice, end of story."  
  
"You'd let him kill himself because he's afraid?"  
  
"I'm not afraid!" John protested.  
  
"Then prove it."  
  
"Right, out," Carson said, tugging on Rodney.  "You're banned from my infirmary until you've got a medical issue of your own.  Go."  
  
"You can't just throw me out."  
  
"I can and I am.  Go, now."  Rodney made the mistake of looking at Carson's face.  He took off at full tilt out of there.  He'd have to break in, but it would be fine.

 

 

John had twenty four hours to make a final decision--and Carson wouldn't take any decision as final until that threshold had been passed.  Twenty four hours to decide if he wanted to up his chance of dying in the infirmary or if he wanted to try to steal a Jumper and run away to try and kill Wraith on his way out.  That was honestly the decision he was leaning towards.  It would be so much easier, so much simpler.  It would be controlled in a way that he couldn't possibly be by laying in a bed being pumped full of drugs and confessing feelings until Carson said he'd done enough.  It would always be better to go out in a fight.  He was pretty sure that was going to be his final choice, no matter what Carson said.  The alternative sounded like hell.  
  
He was at least free of the bubble.  The bubble couldn't protect him from everything going on, so there was no point in keeping it up.  He could go use a proper toilet, have a shower--though they were insistent that he have the IV catheter properly wrapped before he went in and that he couldn't have it taken out to shower just in case of an unexpected reaction.  He was in the shower when he heard a commotion out in the infirmary.  He quickly towelled off and went to go see what was going on.  He heard Carson before he could see anything.  
  
"Now don't do anything rash," Carson said.  "You probably just want to set that down."  
  
That didn't sound good.  Hostage situation in the infirmary?  John didn't even have a weapon and there wasn't anything in his line of sight that he could heft for hitting purposes.  
  
"I'm doing exactly what I want to do," came Rodney's voice.  "Now let me see him."  
  
"Have you lost your bloody mind?"  
  
"I am in full control of my faculties.  Get Sheppard out here.  Send everyone else out, or I'll do it."  
  
Rodney had finally lost it.  John had never wanted a case of possession so much in his life.  Maybe a Goa'uld?  That would be easy enough to fix.  He really hoped that Rodney wasn't just finally crazy and holding someone at gunpoint.  He never should have taught Rodney to shoot.  He took a deep breath and stepped out into the infirmary.  "Hey, buddy, I'm right here.  You don't need to--" John cut himself off.  
  
There was no gun.  There was a grapefruit, clutched in a welding-gloved hand and Rodney holding it.  He had the grapefruit mere inches from his face.    
  
"What the hell?" John said, shock loosing his tongue before he could make a strategic decision on the matter.  
  
"So kind of you to join us.  Beckett, dismiss your minions."  
  
"Lad--"  
  
"Carson, do as he says," John said quietly.  "I'll take care of the security risk."  
  
"Colonel--"  
  
"Just do it, please."  John didn't know what else he could possibly do.  He couldn't see a way to safely de-fruit Rodney without risking contact and he didn't want Rodney to do something idiotic with that grapefruit out of some kind of misplaced... John wasn't even sure what.  
  
Carson looked him over--John could feel his gaze--then nodded and turned to his staff.  "Everyone, stay quiet about this and go wait in the hallway.  I'll call you when you're needed."    
  
Carson's staff were, mercifully, used to weird requests.  They didn't look happy about it, but they did as they were asked, slowly moving and keeping eyes on Rodney as long as they could.    
  
John took his attention straight back to Rodney as soon as they were gone.  "All right, McKay, you tell us what you're up to right now or I swear to god I will come over there and take that damn grapefruit from you."  
  
"I'm holding myself hostage and giving a very good medical reason for Carson to let me into the infirmary."  
  
John didn't know whether to laugh or punch Rodney in the head.  "Why are you holding yourself hostage?"  
  
"Because he wouldn't let me come back in to talk to you and you're being an asshole."  
  
"I'm not the one threatening to... are you planning to rub that on your face or eat it?"  
  
"I'll eat it.  I'll ram the whole thing in my face as fast as I can if you don't hear me out."  
  
"I don't know if I can take you seriously when you're waving a grapefruit around," John said, glancing over at Carson.  
  
Carson seemed to be treating the grapefruit in question as if it were a live weapon.  He had his hands up near shoulder height and his eyes were locked onto it.  It was really no wonder that he panicked in the field so easily.  
  
"I don't care if you think you can, pull your head out of your ass and listen to me for once."  
  
"I listen to you all the time," John said gently.  "We'd all be dead if I didn't."  
  
"You listen to me until it gets personal.  Tell me, how do you feel right now?"  
  
"My IV isn't even hooked up to anything.  I'm not going to trigger an allergic reaction without some kind of protection in place."  John gave Rodney a meaningful look.  
  
"So you _do_ have some kind of self preservation instinct.  And here I was thinking miracles couldn't happen without a god."  
  
"Rodney."  
  
"I know what you look like when you're scared."  
  
"I'm not."  
  
"You are!  You're terrified."  
  
"You're holding yourself hostage with a fucking grapefruit.  You've lost your fucking mind!"  Rodney had to have.  He'd finally cracked under stress and wasn't that a great feeling?  Rodney was going to kill himself because John had added one more thing to Rodney's carefully balanced stack of neuroses and now John couldn't fix it.  
  
"That doesn't mean you're not afraid.  You're not just afraid of me.  You're afraid of dying.  You're afraid of doctors.  Actually, I couldn't even begin to make a list of your fears because apparently your squirrelly little child brain decided that talking about your feelings was bad long enough ago that the odds of you opening up about anything are basically zero, and that means no one knows exactly what you're afraid of and that means that I have no idea why you won't accept treatment.  I know you, though.  I know how your brain works and I know that you have no intention of surviving this.  With that being the case, pull your head out of your damn ass and tell me why you'd rather face certain death than just potential death so I can explain to you all the ways you're wrong!"  
  
"I'm not wrong.  I'm not spending the rest of my life in the infirmary.  I'd rather be sent home!"  
  
"If you let me get the samples I need, I should have you to the point that you can go into the field full time within about six months," Carson said.  He was scared, much like everyone else, but Rodney thought Carson was finally getting it, finally getting what John's no actually meant.  
  
"I'm not living in here for six months!"  
  
"I can build a monitor for you, let you go back to your room at night.  You'd have someone in your room within three minutes of a reaction," Rodney said.  "Hell, if you wanted, I could move in with you."  
  
John pulled his hand down over his face.  "We're barely even dating."  
  
"We've had enough sex I think we can bump up the timeline," Rodney said, hoping it was as drily as he wanted it to be.    
  
"Even if that were the case, I'll go stir crazy staying in a three minute trip to the infirmary."  
  
"Honestly, I don't see why there's any reason to do that," Carson said.    
  
"Why wouldn't there be?" John asked.  It wouldn't be safe for him to stay off-planet for any length of time.  What if he fucked up, said something he shouldn't?  How could he know exactly what would fuck up and send him down the wrong route, end in him dying in full view of half a fucking planet.  
  
"If you're going to known planets, doing trade revisits, and you can avoid talking about anything that feels like you're letting out some personal secret, then I see no reason to keep you on Atlantis," Carson said.  "There's no reason to think that you won't be able to function effectively as you have as long as you're careful.  I won't want you off-planet somewhere with a higher risk of you getting into trouble but if you're religious about the immunotherapy, there's even the possibility that you might be effectively controlled earlier.  It would mean that you'd have to carry a pack with a sealed needle in case you're off planet on a treatment day.  You wouldn't be able to skip or even delay by a day.  But I may very well be able to come up with a version of the protein you can carry with you for up to a week.  I'd want you getting a low dose every five or six days, see if we can't speed up the protocol.  But it's doable.  This isn't a death sentence."  
  
"Getting your damn samples might actually kill me!"  
  
"I think the odds of that are incredibly low," Carson said.  "I wouldn't even suggest such a thing if I didn't think you'd survive."  
  
"I don't care if you think I'd survive.  I'm not dying in a bed somewhere.  That's not how I do this."  
  
Rodney was looking at him like he'd just sprouted wings and started flying.  "You're seriously trying to kill yourself so you won't die in the infirmary?"  
  
He wasn't.  If he was going to die either way, it was different.  And he'd be saving people.  It wasn't killing himself so much as sacrificing himself.  He shook his head.  
  
"I don't actually care how you're justifying this.  The end result is the same.  I end up being told to take Ronon and Teyla and walk your ashes back through the gate.  Your family fucking well puts you in a vault somewhere because I'll bet your family has some secret mausoleum somewhere, and that's the end of it.  I'm not letting go of you that easy, Sheppard."  Rodney had lowered the grapefruit some.  John wasn't sure if it was because even a grapefruit got heavy when held like that long enough or if it was because he was a bit afraid of it.  "That's not the issue here."  
  
"I don't care if it's the issue or not!  For fuck's sake, Rodney, this is my choice.  I don't want to go like this.  I don't want to end up gasping for air in the middle of the infirmary.  I've seen what it looks like when someone dies.  I don't want the last memory anyone has of me to be me shitting myself while I panic.  I want to go out mattering.  I want to matter."  He was itchy already.  It wasn't even feelings.  He hadn't said he felt in any particular way.  John went over to his bedside table and stabbed himself with an epipen, then held out his arm to Carson.  "Antihistamines.  Now."  
  
Carson leapt into action, but that didn't stop Rodney.  Rodney only paused long enough to take note of what was happening, of the fact that John was having an allergic reaction again.  He seemed to John to have hit a momentum that he wasn't going to come down from, like a plane crashing in a perfect arc from the place it had been hit.  He sailed forward just enough to see where he was landing, then he went down angrily, furiously, moving quickly.  
  
"Don't be so fucking stupid.  I know you better than this!  Guess what, John? I'll bet you can't! _You fucking well matter._ You always have, to me.  Since the second you touched what you weren't meant to touch, for god's sake, you've _mattered!"  
_  
John's heart was pounding, pounding, pounding.  He could hear the blood rushing in his ears.  Epinephrine was just adrenaline, no matter how you dressed it up.  It didn't matter if it was real or artificial, adrenaline was going to get his blood up.  He'd learned the symptoms, he'd responded before they could get bad enough to mess him up too badly.  Carson was already getting the IV going and he could feel, though he thought it might be placebo, the cool rush of the antihistamines calming the cells in his body.  "Shut up!"  
  
"No, I won't shut up.  I don't know what kind of fucked up place you come from, I don't know why you're what, damn near forty, and you've never had anyone you could trust enough that you didn't end up having an allergic reaction a long time ago, but I know that you need to hear this.  You matter.  You matter to Teyla.  You matter to Elizabeth.  You matter to Ronon.  Hell, you even matter to this city.  If you think I don't know she's at least a little bit sentient, then you'd be wrong, even if I can't hear her like I think you can and no that doesn't make you crazy if she's actually talking to you.  But more importantly, the most importantly?  John, you matter to _me._ "   
  
John froze.  It was just the reaction making it hard to breathe.  That was it.  Carson would increase the amount of antihistamines and everything would be okay and then he'd make a break for it as soon as he could.  Rodney didn't care about him like he was saying.  It wasn't going to happen.  No one cared about him like that.  
  
"I thought all I could get was what we had and then you told me there might be more.  And then you tried to die, right in front of me.  You told me I could have more and then you tried to leave me.  I'm not letting you pull that shit.  I'm sick and tired of it.  I'm going to make you live if it means holding you down and letting Carson have your blood.  I don't even care!"  
  
"Rodney," John said, not sure what he was going to say next.  What could he say?  He swallowed, hard.  "Not in front of Carson."  
  
"I know you.  I know you've planned to do something stupid because I know that's all you wanted to do the last time you were dying and had time to think about it.  Guess what?  There's no reason to die.  I know that because I am alive and I have allergies.  I am alive and well and I'm probably in the best shape in my life and I am a scientist.  I am supposed to be fat and lazy and getting worshipped by really young, nubile, blond girls in undergrad classes.  Only I hated teaching, I hated undergrads and I really loved science and I actually get to do science here and that's not even the point.  I'm in good shape because if I'm not, I can't keep up and you'll die.  I've spent the last three years of my life making sure we had each other's backs and I don't care if you consent or not, you are getting this treatment!"  
  
"I don't want it."  
  
"No, more like you don't want to talk about your feelings.  And honestly, no wonder if they make you feel half as bad as that time that they put lemon in the water at a conference.  But I am here and I have this grapefruit and I am going to eat this damn thing unless you agree."  
  
"It's not consent if it's under duress."  
  
"This is me not caring.  I don't care if you hate me as long as you're alive.  I'd rather have you alive and hating me and have to go back to Earth myself than know you weren't here anymore and yes, that's melodramatic, but guess what, John?  I'm a melodramatic person.  If you haven't figured that out yet, then you don't deserve any of your Mensa test scores!"  
  
"I'm--"  John found himself abruptly cut off before he could even finish the first syllable of his sentence.  
  
"If you just opened your mouth to say you're not having the treatment then I am seriously going to be forced to punch you," Rodney said.  "And I'm pretty sure I'll break something.  I need my hands for typing.  Don't make me punch you.  Just tell Carson to take a metric tonne of your blood, talk about your feelings a little bit and let him make you better."  
  
"Rodney, it's not--"  
  
"It's exactly that simple!" Rodney snapped.  John wasn't sure when Teyla had taught Rodney her mind reading tricks, but he was a little hurt she hadn't taught him.  "Even if you hate me, this city needs you.  You think Carson can deal with getting us out of danger?  The only Ancient tech he's not hopelessly terrified of is the medical equipment and even that's touch and go!  So tell him to fix you!"  
  
"You're being an idiot about this, McKay."  John had a plan.  His plan didn't include dying in the infirmary.  It included saving the galaxy and being awesome.  He wanted it to include Rodney but if Rodney couldn't understand why it was important that he not just sit around and wait to die, then maybe it couldn't.  Why had he ever decided to talk to Rodney about how he felt?  He could have just kept fucking Rodney and pretended they had a relationship.  He could have just assumed Rodney would figure it out.  He could have waited for Rodney to come to him.  Why had he decided to go first?  
  
"Am I?  Because I've done the math, Sheppard.  You die, you take us down with you.  Does that sound like fun?  Are you done with us, then?  You want to see us all sink into the ocean or maybe get the life sucked out of us by the Wraith?  Because I can hold the city together, but I can't make it want to stay together."  Rodney's eyes widened as if he had realized something, put the thoughts together and finally gotten it.  John had seen that look before.  
  
"What?" John demanded.  
  
"How the hell did they ever clear you through your psych evals?" Rodney demanded.  "I know they made you take them.  You've disobeyed orders.  They make you do those after that.  O'Neill's psych eval folder is apparently enormous with everything he's done.  So how did they clear you?  Were they completely stupid?  Incompetent?  Did you pay them?"  
  
"Pay them?" John echoed.  This had gone an awfully long way off the rails all of a sudden.  What was Rodney talking about?  
  
"Yes, pay them.  How else could you get cleared?  Why else wouldn't you have been discharged?  They don't let suicidal men fly a 20 million dollar helicopter.  So how did you do it?"  
  
"I'm not suicidal!"  
  
"Oh, but you are.  Every time you have the opportunity, you strap yourself to some rocket and aim it at the sun.  You're doing it again.  Let me guess, your magnificent plan is to... I don't know... steal the Daedalus and fly it into a hive ship at ramming speed and fuck everyone on the ship?"  
  
John stilled, trying not to look guilty.  It was startlingly close to his plan, actually.  
  
"No, wait, this is you.  You won't take down the Daedalus, it's not yours.  You'll steal a Jumper and you'll do something stupider than usual and kill yourself that way.  Your ridiculous dependence on light aircraft is like a security blanket, you know that?  You can't steal the damn Jumper and ram it into a Hive ship.  And only part of the reason is because I'm about to _tear out their crystals_  so you can't play in one until you let Carson fix you!"  
  
"You can't destroy them!" John shouted.  "You'll disable the expedition!"  
  
"And destroying an irreplaceable piece of Ancient tech and taking its best pilot won't do that?  Carson, check him for brain damage.  I think he killed brain cells with the hypoxia!"  
  
"I'm not stupid!  I know what I'm doing!  It's my terms!"  
  
"Your terms are absolute bullshit," Rodney said, his voice going quiet.  It was worse, him being quiet.  It was scarier, harder to deal with.  It was easy to shout back and John wondered if Rodney knew that, if this was some attempt, however transparent, at manipulation.  
  
"They're my terms.  Mine.  I don't have many choices left to me but I--"  
  
"You'll pick the most stupidly destructive one because apparently the only way you know to love anything is to destroy it.  I shouldn't be surprised, I should have just got out of the way.  I should have known that even when you care about something, you only want to see how far and fast you can push it and this is it, Sheppard.  This is the limit.  I'm holding a grapefruit in a welding glove because I don't want you to die and this is the end of it.  This is my big plan.  This is my last-minute save.  This is where I pull everything together and you clap me on the back and tell me it's all going to be okay because this, right here, is as hard and as fast and as far as you can push me.  You're asking me to sit back and watch you die like it won't break something inside me?  Well guess what?  You didn't have to tell me you loved me to be able to break me.  You're my best friend.  I've never even had one of those before.  So please.  Just don't."  
  
Rodney stayed quiet.  He stopped talking and John didn't know what to do with that.  Rodney didn't stop and wait for someone else to speak.  He didn't ever step back and give someone else a chance to beat him or win.  That wasn't how he did things.  He just kept steamrolling until you agreed.  He'd managed to destroy most of a solar system doing that, but somehow he'd fallen silent and John didn't know how to deal with that.  He stared at Rodney, unable to focus properly.    
He'd break Rodney if he did this but what did that even mean?  Rodney would recover.  Rodney had to.  It wasn't like his fate rested in John's hands.  He was in control of his own destiny, he could wrest back control and do what he wanted with his life.  That was what John wanted to do.  That was what Rodney could do.  
But could he, really?  John took him in, drinking in the sight of him.  He took note of every detail.  The downward slant of Rodney's mouth.  The wrinkle between his eyes.  The way he was breathing.  The way the grapefruit was trembling in his hand.    
  
It added up, little by little, into a picture that John didn't want to see.  He didn't want to believe it could be.  Rodney was backing down, letting him have space to make the decision.  That meant he'd given up.  John really had pushed him hard enough, far enough that he hit the breaking point.  And he was stepping down.  He had gone quiet, stopped the assault on John's mind, stopped the incessant insults.  He'd laid aside his weapons and bared his neck and he was waiting for the final blow.  
  
And that was when John realized exactly what Rodney had been saying.  It was something John wasn't sure he'd ever felt himself, wasn't sure he was capable of feeling.  He wondered if maybe failing to talk about one's feelings could result in losing them.  Maybe his feelings were gone, fled when he stopped giving them attention.    
  
But then again, the idea of Rodney being broken, of Rodney being upset, of Rodney having been pushed past his breaking point, it did something to John.  He couldn't name it.  Even if it hadn't been likely to result in anaphylaxis even with the drugs Carson was pushing, John didn't think he had the words.  He wasn't any kind of poet.  But the idea of Rodney being left behind, broken and alone... That wasn't right.  
  
John didn't leave behind wounded men.  He didn't leave them to die in the darkness by themselves.  He didn't leave them to try and figure out how to get home on a broken leg.  He didn't leave them prisoner.  He didn't leave them trapped inside themselves.  He didn't leave behind wounded men.  
He also tried as hard as he could with every part of his being to avoid friendly fire.  He'd failed, here.  He'd hit Rodney without realizing it and he couldn't leave him behind.    
  
"Carson," John said quietly, his eyes never leaving Rodney's face.  "I want you to take a bunch of my blood.  Whatever you need.  Take as much as you want while I have a long talk with Rodney?"  
  
Rodney deflated a little.  His eyes searched John's warily, looking for something.  John didn't know what he was looking for, but he knew when he found it.  The grapefruit dropped from Rodney's hand and he started to smile, a tremulous thing coming slowly to life across his lips and moving upward into his eyes.  It wasn't a grin.  It wasn't victorious.  It was something John had thought he'd never had and Rodney was giving it to him.  Rodney took a step towards him, that smile spreading slowly.  "Thank you," he whispered.  
  
"You're welcome," John replied, meaning it.


End file.
